While You Were Sleeping
by Stardust585
Summary: What if it wasn’t Danny who got shot at the bar? What if it was someone Mac Taylor cared even more about? As Mac is forced to deal with his feelings and a deadly opponent, Stella’s life teeters on the brink. SM DL team drama/suspense post-ep.525 COMPLETE
1. The Past, Present And Shooting

**While You Were Sleeping**

**Summary: **What if it wasn't Danny who got shot at the bar? What if it was someone Mac Taylor cared even more about? As Mac is forced to deal with his feelings and a deadly opponent, Stella's life teeters on the brink. SMacked, some DL drama/action/suspense

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

**A/N 1:** This story sets off at the end of eppy 5.25 (there might be some minor spoilers). The shooting at the bar and its circumstances are the same as on the show but that's about it – the rest I decided to go my own way and so this story has no connection with how the case was resolved in eppy 6.01. It is only inspired by this episode, not based on it!

Read and enjoy!

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**Chapter**** 1 – The past, present and shooting **

The road was blocked. Though usually stoic and reserved, Mac Taylor found he simply couldn't hold his emotions at bay this time and slammed both his hands hard on his Avalanche's horn in an angry display of helplessness. He could see the police lights flashing in the distance and turned on the police radio in hope of finding out what was going on.

"Dammit!" he allowed himself an angry curse upon hearing the dispatcher's announcements.

An accident. Which meant he wouldn't be driving anywhere any time soon. His truck was mired in a sea of cars and he could use his siren all he wanted but unless the Avalanche suddenly developed wings, he still wouldn't move an inch.

He didn't think twice. Taking his suit jacket from the passenger seat he got out slamming the door shut behind him. He didn't take any heed of the horns and angry cries from the other drivers as he maneuvered around the cars stuck in traffic to get to the nearest sidewalk. Then he started at a run.

_Please __don't let me be too late. Please let her live_, he repeated in his mind over and over like a mantra. For the first time in many years he found he was actually praying.

**XxXxXxX**

_One__ month earlier…_

Glass and splinters of wood were flying everywhere. As were bullets aimed at him and his team – the few people Mac Taylor cared about in his life. His well-honed reflexes of a detective and a Marine worked even before he could think. He put his arm around the nearest standing and completely shocked Sid and pulled him down to the ground. He felt a bullet graze his right arm but didn't heed it.

As soon as he touched the ground and saw Sid was ok, Mac was on his feet again, his Glock already in his hand. But he had no chance to use it as the shooting was over even faster than it had begun. All he saw were the backlights of a silver sedan speeding away. Flack was on his feet also, his gun in his hands. He looked at Mac with the same frustration Mac imagined his own face was now displaying. Then he felt adrenaline starting to give way to anxiety and concern for his team. He quickly turned around. What he saw was complete and utter mayhem.

The bar had almost ceased to exist – the floor was littered with large chunks of wood from the counter, pieces of furniture and glass. Broken chairs and tables were strewn around in small heaps of almost unrecognizable pieces. People were slowly scrambling to their feet. It was a late hour so the bar had been full of patrons enjoying a late evening drink. The shooters knew exactly what they were doing targeting this place at this time.

Mac heard a groan to his left and turned to see a totally bewildered Adam, whom he helped to slowly get back on his legs. Lindsay was wiping blood off Danny's forehead but Mac could see the cut on the younger man's scalp was superficial and nothing serious. Nearby, Sid was slowly scrambling to his feet as was Hawkes. A bit calmer, he now turned to where Stella had been standing. He was half-expecting to see her run up to him and ask if he was fine, actually wondering why she hadn't done it yet.

The sight that met his eyes would haunt him for many weeks to come. Stella was still lying on the floor. She wasn't moving. A feeling of cold dread crept up his spine as he ran up to her unmoving form, his mind immediately flashing him images and feelings from when he had found her unconscious at her apartment after shooting Frankie. Falling to his knees beside her, Mac scanned her for injuries, gently moving her hair from her face.

"Stella?" he called her name with growing anxiety.

She groaned but didn't open her eyes. Then he saw the blood pooling around her head in a grotesque halo. He noticed the wound on her scalp near the right temple and felt all the blood drain from his face. Stella was about to make a toast to Angell and had been standing with her face towards the window and directly in the shooter's line. She must have been slower to duck than Danny who had been sitting opposite her and thus she took the full brunt of the assault on herself. Mac's eyes fell on her shirt, which was becoming increasingly drenched with blood in several places. He gently moved the fabric away to assess the damage. He inhaled rapidly as he saw the extent of her injuries. He could see two gun-shot wounds, one to the chest and another between her fifth and sixth rib. He could only hope the bullets hadn't grazed her heart or liver. She was bleeding profusely and he quickly ripped off a part of his sleeve to make an impromptu pressure dressing for the wounds.

"Hawkes!" he shouted for the doc feeling panic rise inside him as he tried to stem the life flowing out of her with her blood before his very eyes.

Sheldon appeared at Mac's side, shock on his face as he saw Stella covered in blood. He was quick to recover, though, and his surgical training kicked in. With professional precision, he looked Stella over and took the pressure dressing over from Mac. As he peered underneath it at the bleeding wounds in her abdomen and chest, he winced knowing how serious it was. He looked at Mac, who was hovering just beside him.

"There's not much I can do for her here, Mac," he said. "She's got to get to a hospital and fast."

"Already done," Mac moved a tad away and called 911, all the time looking at Stella's unmoving face in search of any signs that she was regaining consciousness.

It was almost too difficult to watch her like this. His memory kept throwing at him images of her beaten form lying unconscious on the floor near Frankie's body and then her stalwart but so lonely figure in her burned apartment. He remembered receiving the first report when it wasn't sure who the victim of the arson was. He had to sit down for a while before he was sure his legs would carry him. This was so much worse. He had never seen her so seriously injured, her life hanging on a thread. It was stirring in him layers of concern, fear and anger at his own helplessness he didn't think he any longer had in him, not after Claire's death.

Not totally sure where this line of thought was taking him, Mac shoved it aside – he had learned that was the best way he was able to cope with the tragedies and atrocities his life kept throwing at him. And this was no time or place to dwell on this, either – as a detective and team leader, he had a job to do. Stella was in good hands, the ambulance was on its way and there wasn't much he could do for her right now. He could, however, do much for the others. He was their boss and leader and they all needed him to take all this under control and make sure all the injured were taken care of, the emergency services summoned and the appropriate protocol met. The pragmatist and rationalist in him had the last say in his internal struggle, as always. With utmost reluctance he finally managed to tear his eyes form her and heave himself from his knees and Stella's side.

"Sheldon, you stay with Stella. I'm going to help the others but the minute the ambulance gets here, you get me," he ordered the junior CSI.

"You've got it, Mac," Hawkes' voice was steady even though his face was stiff with worry. Looking back at Mac, he saw the anguish in the other man's eyes and quelled his own misgivings for Mac's sake.

"She'll be fine," he forced himself to say reassuringly.

Mac only nodded his head giving Stella's unmoving face one last glance. Sheldon couldn't say if Mac believed him. He silently turned around and delved into the mayhem raging around.

**XxXxXxX**

Had any of the CSIs been looking, they might have noticed a lonely figure running away from the bar under the cover of the night just after the first shots rang out. She quickly turned into a dark alley and gasped as a pair of strong hands got hold of her and dragged her further into the shadows.

"What are you doing here?" came the angry voice of the girl's captor.

She gasped recognizing the voice. "I..." was all she managed before his hands started to tighten on her throat.

"You just couldn't simply listen to him, could you?" there was a note of angry frustration in his voice.

"Don't...do this," she croaked struggling for air. She grabbed his forearms trying to loosen his grip but it was like trying to bend iron bars.

"I can't let you get away like this," there seemed to be a trace of regret in his voice. "You already know too much."

"Please..." she managed to utter before his fingers cut the inflow of oxygen to her lungs completely. Dark blurs appeared before her eyes as she fought for her life still trying to loosen his vice-like grip around her neck. But it was no use. She tried to catch one last laboured breath and then the world became black.

**XxXxXxX**

Not five minutes passed before the first ambulances and fire trucks started wheeling in. Mac was busy with Flack, Danny and Adam, all four of them leading out the shocked guests from the bar. Hawkes was still with Stella while Sid and Lindsay were tending to the other people, a great majority of whom had only sustained minor injuries. Not all people had escaped unscathed, though. Stella's state was very serious. The bartender had been found dead behind the counter and another woman had suffered a fatal shot to the head. This was turning into a carnage.

"Hey, Mac!" Sheldon approached him as Mac was helping one of the last people out of the bar.

"Stella?" he asked instantaneously.

"They're loading her into an ambulance as we speak."

"She conscious?"

"No, but they stopped the bleeding for now."

"Ok, I have to stay here to take care of this whole mess. You can…"

"Mac?" it was Flack coming towards them from behind. "How's Stella?" he asked, worry etched on his face.

"They're taking her into an ambulance right now."

"So what are you still doing here?" Flack asked.

"I have to tackle all this," he ran a weary hand through his hair as he looked around with frustration.

"Mac, of all people, she'll want you to be there when she wakes up," Don said seriously. "We'll handle this."

Mac frowned. It was strictly protocol that as the highest ranking officer on site he remain and take care of everything but it was Stella they were talking about. One last look from Don told him all he needed to know. The hell with protocol.

He gave Flack a pat on the shoulder and sped off.

**XxXxXxX**

"Is it done?"

"There were some complications, sir, but everything's proceeding as planned."

"Complications?"

"Nothing to worry about, sir."

"I hope so. Or you'll be next."

**XxXxXxX**

Stella slipped in and out of reality. The pain in her head and chest was excruciating. All that kept her on the right side of consciousness was the gentle hand holding hers.

"Hold on, Stella," came the reassuring voice above her ear. Mac.

She wanted to call out his name, tell him she heard him and knew he was there but she choked on her own blood. The pain in her side became more acute with every labored breath she managed only to reach an indescribable level of excruciating as she tried to speak. She wanted to hold on to his comforting voice but she felt herself drift further and further away from it, as if she had lost all control over her body and was drowning. The pain grew even worse and she felt her muscles constrict from the very strain of taking it. Her body arched in a spasm as the pain climbed to an indescribable level of torture. She let out a small cry and suddenly all was quiet.

She drifted into nothingness and knew no more.

Mac stared at the flat-line on Stella's heart monitor as if it was a line marking the end of his own existence. A cold feeling of dread crawled over his whole being at the heart-rending sound of the ECG's alarm tone. He felt like his own heart had stopped together with Stella's.

"Do something!" he shouted at the paramedic.

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**A/N**: Now it's YOUR turn;–) How did you like it? Interested enough to read more? Please let me know! Thanks:-)

**A/N 2**: Sorry for the evil cliffie!! But I am not one of those writers who go and kill off their fave characters, so don't worry [WINK] - but isn't a happy ending far more worth it when the road to it isn't a mere piece of cake;)?


	2. Trip Down Memory Lane

**While You Were Sleeping**

**Summary: **What if it wasn't Danny who got shot at the bar? What if it was someone Mac Taylor cared even more about? As Mac is forced to deal with his feelings and a deadly opponent, Stella's life teeters on the brink. SMacked, some DL drama/action/suspense

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

**A/N: **Thanks for all your reviews, favs and alerts – do continue:-) Getting to know you read and like my stories always makes my day and it makes me write much faster;-)

As always, enjoy!

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**CHAPTER 2 – Trip Down Memory Lane**

The hospital corridors were brightly lit and there was a never ending stream of people rushing to and from all directions – doctors barking out dispositions, nurses carrying them out, paramedics rushing in new patients, the injured and ill expressing their pain, family members crying or laughing. Even though he was standing in the midst of that chaos, Mac Taylor didn't really hear or see any of it. He felt like he had been hit hard over the head. His fatigued mind kept replaying the scenes leading up to the present moment. The shooting, Stella's bloodied face, the ride in the ambulance.

It was a ride from hell and Mac would never forget it. As the ambulance rushed through the congested streets of New York, he watched the paramedics resuscitate Stella a couple of times. It was torture to watch them perform CPR on her, and the awareness that she would be dead by now had it not been for them and the machines around them, was killing him. Then Stella was rushed to an OR and Mac was left there standing alone in his bloodied shirt before the door with a huge "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" sign. He watched through the glass as doctors carted his partner and best friend off and away until finally his legs started to give and he had to sit down. He hid his face in his bloodied hands and waited, fighting off tears of angry helplessness.

After 9/11 he promised himself never to feel like that again. The suffocating feeling of being unable to help the one he loved had almost driven him to the edge of sanity then. However, there was always one person keeping him on the safe side of that edge. Stella didn't allow him to wallow in self-pity and despair. She almost physically heaved him out of the dark hole he had bunkered himself in. She helped him when he needed her most and had stayed at his side ever since. Had he ever told her that he knew perfectly well what she been doing all these years for him? How much he appreciated it and how he valued her for it? Was it already too late?

He had always assumed these things didn't need saying – that Stella knew how he felt about her and realized what lay behind his reserved and self-controlled façade without him having to actually word any of it. They had both always taken comfort in their ability to communicate with each other without words. And it was so much easier on him as he tended to avoid such topics altogether. When it came to personal, he was never good at reaching out to others. It was always Stella who reached out to him.

Yet sitting there in the ER fearing for her life, he realized with severe acuteness that maybe he should have made more of an effort to show her what she meant for him. He had taken her for granted, boldly assuming that she would always be there to drag him out of his armor and look out for him. Now he was being made painfully aware that it was a big mistake.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a not unkind question.

"Are you all right, sir?" a person wearing scrubs was standing before him. Mac looked up and into the face of a young paramedic. "I saw you with the bar-shooting victim," she said sympathetically and then her eyes landed on his bloodied clothes and bleeding arm. "Are you wounded, sir?"

"It's…," he looked at his hands covered in blood. Stella's blood. He swallowed hard. "…not my blood."

She expertly looked him over. "On your arm it is, sir. Let me look at that," she unceremoniously moved his shirt sleeve up. "You're gonna have to have stitches on that wound. Come with me, please, I'll take care of it."

"No, I'll stay here, thank you," he snapped regretting his tone the minute he said it. This girl was just doing her job but he knew it was nothing serious and he wanted to be there when the surgeons left the OR.

"I don't think you understand, sir. This is not a request." Her voice became commanding but then she looked at him kindly again. "It will only take a few minutes and then you can get back here. It's gonna take at least a few more hours before your wife is out of the OR."

Mac's head snapped up.

"She's…she's not my wife…" he mumbled automatically.

"Oh, I'm sorry…I just assumed…right, you don't even have a ring. So stupid of me," the girl blushed trying to explain her fallacious presumptions to the stern but obviously anguished man in front of her. "It's only…the way you looked at her when you came in…she must be dear to you?" she tried.

"I didn't even realize how much," he replied looking back at the door expecting the girl to finally get the cue and leave him be.

"Sir?" contrary to his hopes, the paramedic demanded his attention again.

"All right," he finally conceded with a frown and followed her.

**XxXxXxX**

"Come on!" Danny slammed his hands on the horn of the Avalanche when a garbage truck jumped into traffic from a side street right in front of him. He was really close to the hospital and was anxious to get there as fast as he could. He had seen a fair share of bullet wounds in his life and the ones Stella had sustained looked bad. His feeling of foreboding was further exacerbated by the fact that Mac hadn't given any of them a word on how she was doing. So he had jumped into the truck the first opportunity he got. Hawkes, Sid and Lindsay were still helping at the site but Danny imagined Flack would be at the hospital soon, too.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed to life.

"So, you there already?" came Don's voice from the other side.

"Yeah, you wish!" Danny said in frustration. "Whoa!" he exclaimed as he had to step on the brakes with all his might to bring the truck to a complete halt and avoid hitting a car that had jumped lights and came at him from the opposite direction.

"What _was_ that, Danny?" came Flack's worried voice. "You still in one piece out there?"

"This city's killing me! Some jerk just wanted to play chicken! Where are the damn traffic cops when you need them!"

"Or maybe it was you who tried to make him chicken out. Do you have your glasses on, Danny?" came Flack's snarky remark from the other side.

"Oh, shut up. You sound just like my ma. And I don't need a back-seat driver, especially one who's not even really _here_."

"Your ma? Then I say she's one smart lady."

Danny had to chuckle. "Shut it, Flack. And stop distracting me or I really won't get there in one piece."

"Ok, ok, hot wheels. I'll get there as soon as I can, too. Just keep me posted in the mean time," Flack sounded as anxious as Danny felt.

"Will do," he ended the conversation just as he pulled up at the entrance.

He started to the ER almost at a run. What he saw in the waiting room made him wish Flack was there already.

Mac was sitting on a bench in the waiting room, his face hidden in his hands. A dreadful feeling began to creep up Danny's spine. Not a week had passed since he stood watching Flack sit like that on that very bench and then he was telling him Angell was gone. A conversation he had had with Flack over beer before all hell broke loose and Angell died sprung up to his mind.

_"Sheesh, you'd really think they'd finally get together," Flack said with exasperation and took another swig of his Budweiser. "And finally end the longest-going gossip in the history of the department."_

_"You kiddin' me? What would we bet on then?"_

_Flack chuckled. "How many little Macs they'll have?"_

_"Flack, that is a mental place I don't wanna go to…I'll stick to betting on weeks till their first date."_

_"It's gone down to only weeks now?"_

_"Yeah, who would've thought," Danny smirked. "It was the Papakota case. The way Mac jumped on the first thing smokin' to find Stella in Greece, it got us all thinking. _Greece_, I mean, that's like the other side of the world, man. I'd have to think twice if I'd do that for Lindsay. And she's my _wife_." _

_"Hell, you'd _think_? I wouldn't even _consider_ it," Flack deadpanned. "I tan bad," he added with a cheeky grin._

_Danny chuckled. "And Mac hates planes almost as much as he hates taking a leave from the lab. It's a ten-hour flight to Thessaloniki and he was gone for three whole days."_

_"Now _that_ settles the matter. If that isn't love then I don't know what is," Flack quipped, his tone oozing irony. "But my bet's still on a couple of years. I mean, look at them, they're both emotionally retarded, Danny." _

_"True," Danny laughed mildly and took a sip of his own beer. "Kids in kindergarten know more about showing their feelings than Mac. Hell, Lucy does it better than him."_

_"I know. Still, that makes the betting all the more fun, right?"_

_"Almost like playing Russian Roulette," Danny quipped. "But it's in the makings, I tell you. Everyone knows they're meant for each other. The only question is when _they_ will finally get it."_

_"One thing's for sure," Flack stated in a thoughtful tone. "It will take something huge to get their thick heads to see what everyone else who's ever seen them together knows right away. And I mean, like life-threatening."_

As Danny now looked at Mac's defeated form, he could only hope it hadn't come to that. Back then, neither Flack nor he had the slightest idea that Mac, Stella, they both and the whole team would be subjected to Angell's death and a shooting that threatened all of their lives. As he looked at Mac once again, he felt panic for Stella grow inside his stomach like a giant gaping hole. They couldn't lose her, not now when the wounds after Jess' death were still so fresh. It would be too much.

"Mac?" Danny finally managed to make himself known.

The older man lifted his head and Danny held his breath. Mac was in obvious anguish but as he saw Danny, he drew his hand over his face to wipe off the tears lurking in the corners of his eyes.

"Stella?" Danny was almost afraid to ask.

Mac silently held out one of his hands for him to see. There were several evidence bags in his fingers, each containing one bullet. Danny looked at them with numb shock in his eyes.

"They managed to take out all the bullets," Mac said quietly. "_Three_, Danny."

"Jesus. How's she now?"

"She's…," Mac's voice broke a little. Then he cleared his throat and tried to speak again. "She's in a coma. She might never wake up."

**XxXxXxX**

The doctors would allow only one person to see Stella so Mac told Danny to go home. There was no use in him staying and he had a family to be with right now. He would get himself a cab home. Reluctantly, Danny finally left and Mac was once again alone with his thoughts and the painful awareness that Stella wouldn't sit watch next to him this time.

He slowly made it to the door of her hospital room. Standing just before it, he took a deep breath and ran a hand over his tired eyes. And then he went in.

Mac would never forget the first time he saw Stella in that hospital bed. There was a spider-web of tubes and sensors leading up from her arms, chest and head to various machines positioned around her bed. The sound of all the ventilators and other medical equipment pumping blood, breathing for her and keeping her other body functions working gave the sight an eerie air of unreality. Stella's face, always so full of emotion and feeling, was now a serene unmoving mask. He gently touched his hand to her cheek. It was soft and velvety but it was cold. His first impulse was that it wasn't her. How could it be? Stella, his Stella, was always full of life and energy. Now she was reduced to a lifeless puppet.

He sat down on the chair next to her bed and gingerly took her hand into his. He didn't know how to do this. He was completely at a loss for words and his mind was blank. He had seen people he cared about die and suffer before – his Marine friends shot in the line of duty, Claire taken away from him without as much as a good-bye, Flack so terribly wounded in that explosion three years ago, Reed almost bleeding to death...There had been lots of pain in his life. But watching someone he cared so profoundly about teeter on the very brink between life and death was something else altogether. It was even more cruel. Death drew a line at everything and that was it. Here your pain was accompanied by solitary vestiges of hope, which he found hurt even more. It was like rubbing salt into an open wound.

"I...," he finally began. "I know you can hear me, Stella. So I want you listen," finally the words he had kept at bay for so long started to flow out of him. "You are strong and you're gonna pull through this. _We_ are going to pull through this. I am here for you now and I will be when you wake up. You have to wake up, Stell. Do you know how much you mean to me?" he gazed at her face as if expecting she would open her eyes any moment and tell him she did know or simply flash him one of her megawatt smiles.

"You really have to help me here, Stella. I'm not very good at monologues or sharing my feelings, you know that," he huffed. "Though you've always been able to pry almost anything you wanted out of me," he smiled to himself and his gaze wandered out the window and then rested back on Stella's face. "Even when we first met..."

**XxXxXxX **

_Claire was running late. Mac was waiting for her at their usual spot, where they always had their Wednesday out-of-work lunch. He had managed to get there early and was patiently waiting for her when she texted him that she wouldn't be able to make it that day at all. With a sigh, Mac took a sandwich to go and despondently went out of the little coffee shop figuring he could just as well go back to the lab, finish early and make (or rather order) Claire a surprise dinner when she got back from work. With that thought in mind bringing back the smile on his face, he spotted a free cab and made a go for it. He had been forced to learn the ins and outs of the cab-hailing art the hard way when he moved to New York from Chicago. A pure-blood New Yorker, Claire had never any problems with it and she never failed to tease him about his initial failures and blunders. Now, however, he had become as skilled as she, and he was opening the back door to the cab he had hailed in no time._

_"Dammit!" he suddenly heard close behind and turned around in surprise._

_The first thing he saw was hair. A tremendous amount of curly hair. He remembered thinking he had never seen so many hair on one head before. And then his attention shifted to the woman's face and sparkling chartreuse-green eyes. He was happily married, he didn't look at women like that – still, he didn't think her exotic beauty could leave any man indifferent, be they married or not. As she looked back at him at that moment, though, her eyes were nothing close to these of a typical NY chick – they were glinting murder._

_"You wanted this cab?" he asked._

_"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock Holmes," she replied sarcastically. "But go ahead, you got to it first. Survival of the fittest, right?" _

_There was something intriguing about her cutting humour and confident attitude that made him say his next words._

_"Where are you going?"_

_She looked at him like he had grown a third eye or something but finally replied. "NYPD main police building. Why?"_

_Mac smiled. "Then we can share if you like. I'm going to the same place."_

_"Really?" her eyebrows went up in a look of incredulity but she had to be in a real hurry and finally nodded her agreement. "Ok. Thanks."_

_He held the door for her, for which he was rewarded with yet another glance of amazement mixed with confusion. When they both got in and the cab started moving, she turned to him with a half-smile._

_"You can't be from New York," she stated._

_"I have lived here for a couple of years but true, I'm not from here."_

_"Where then?"_

_"Chicago."_

_"So, tell me, are there many more of you chivalrous gentlemen in the Windy City?"_

_He looked at her with a small smile. He was finding her irony and light sense of humour refreshing and original. _

_"We're a dying breed but we keep up our standards and stay sharp in case a damsel in distress comes our way."_

_She chuckled. "Nice. I see I've found my match," she held out her hand. "I'm Stella, by the way."_

_He took her hand. Her grip was firm but not too tight and her hand pleasantly warm. "Mac. Mac Taylor."_

_She nodded her head and gave him a half-smile he didn't quite fathom. _

_"So, you work in the NYPD?"_

_"I'm a detective at the crime lab."_

_"Wow," she said with interest. "That must be one hell of a job."_

_"It has its ups and downs," he said diplomatically though he was flattered by her reaction._

_"I bet," she said with another mysterious smile. "You like the job?"_

_Mac was a bit baffled at where this was going but decided to oblige her seeing as there seemed to be no harm in it. _

_"I do. It's pretty exciting – you've got to be on your toes all the time and there's always something going on. Everything is connected, you know? But it's also very demanding and time-consuming, which my wife never fails to remind me of."_

_Mac had no idea where his speech came from. He was a private man and didn't share his feelings and details about his life with his friends let alone a stranger met on the street. Yet there was something about her that made him instantly trust her. And his detective gut had never failed him before. _

_She smiled sympathetically, something she didn't do very much he could see. "Job at the crime lab and a family, I bet it must be hard on you both," she said._

_Mac raised his eyebrows in amazement, upon which she gave him a timid smile indicating she didn't want to pry and looked out the window._

_"We're here," she said suddenly and reached for her purse but Mac stopped her hand._

_"It's on me. I stole this cab from you, after all."_

_"Um, ok. If you insist," she said with a small smile. "Just tell me one thing, Mac. Where do you keep your white horse?" she asked in that teasing tone again._

_He only shook his head and paid the cabbie. When he got out after her, she turned to him and flashed him a smile for which he couldn't find any words other than 'megawatt' or 'electrifying'._

_"Thanks, Mac Taylor. Maybe I'll be able to repay this to you one day," she said with a mischievous smile. "I gotta run so I guess, see you around."_

_"Yeah, sure," he said and watched her disappear into the building. He shook his head and went inside after her._

_The next day he came to work a bit later than usual and was stunned to see the cab-woman sitting at a desk across from him. He walked to his own desk with a look of utter confusion on his face. _

_"Hi," he said carefully. "Stella, right?"_

_She looked up flashing him a wide grin. Then she stood up and went up to him._

_"Bonasera. Stella Bonasera. Detective second grade, junior CSI and your new partner."_

_Mac looked at her like she had just told him she was Mary, Queen of Scots. Then he shook his head and smiled._

_"You knew straight away, didn't you?"_

_"Not straight away. The moment you told me your full name, though, was quite revealing," she said with a playful smile._

_"So you were asking me all those questions because..."_

_"I thought it would be a great opportunity to get to know you before we were officially introduced," she shrugged. "I hope you're not offended."_

_"No," he allowed a small smile to play on his lips. "It's simply been a long time since I was played so skilfully."_

_"I'll take that as a compliment," she flashed him a cheeky grin but then her expression became serious and earnest. "So, partners?" she asked a little nervously, holding out her hand to him. _

_He looked her straight in the eye. He liked what he saw there. Intelligence, strength, enthusiasm but also a certain vulnerability he recognized because he knew it only too well. _

_"Partners," he smiled warmly and shook her hand._

**XxXxXxX**

Mac woke up with a start and frowned as a terrible crick in his neck made itself known to him. He looked at the unfamiliar surroundings in confusion, at first not totally sure where he was. Then as the remainders of drowsiness slowly subsided and his eyes fell on Stella, he remembered everything. He was telling her about their first meeting and at some point he must have involuntarily slipped into a slumber, the horrors of the last evening finally taking their toll on him. It was strange how at home he could never get even a wink of sleep after an especially difficult day like yesterday but here, with Stella but a few feet away, he was able to get more than a little of peaceful rest. He looked over at her again and his frown deepened. No change. Still that serene unmoving mask on her face that was driving him insane with worry.

He stood up and allowed himself a deep sigh. He looked at his watch, wondering if he had enough time to swing by his apartment and change. After sleeping in them in a chair the whole night, his dress shirt and jacket were in a miserable state. Had Stella seen him like that, he would surely get at least a raised eyebrow. Then his phone buzzed to life.

"Taylor," he answered it.

"Mac? Sorry, I know it's early…," came Sheldon's apologetic tone from the other end.

"It's ok, Sheldon, I'm up," Mac eased his worries. "What have you got?"

"There's something you'll really want to see here at the scene, Mac. Actually, several things."

"Ok. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Mac, one more thing. How's Stella?" Hawkes asked with concern.

"No change," Mac sighed with a frown.

"When I'm done here, I'll come by the hospital and talk to her doctor."

"Ok. I'll see you shortly," and with that he hung up. He gave Stella's unmoving form one last glance.

"We'll get them," he said with determination in her direction and he was out the door.

Guess that answered his question about having time to change. This was going to be one nightmare of a case. He only hoped he would close it with Stella back at his side, where she belonged. His partner. And best friend.

* * *

**A/N:** **Hope this wasn't too much - I know, poor Mac and poor Stell, but don't worry;) **

**A/N2: I guess we've all wondered one time or another just how Stella and Mac met - how did you like my take on it? I really hope you enjoyed it! Do let me know – the green button's just under your cursor;-) Go ahead – click it!**


	3. Tempt Not A Desperate Man

**While You Were Sleeping**

**Summary:** What if it wasn't Danny who got shot at the bar? What if it was someone Mac Taylor cared even more about? As Mac is forced to deal with his feelings and a deadly opponent, Stella's life teeters on the brink. SMacked, some DL, post ep. 525, drama/action/suspense

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

**A/N: Thanks so much for your support and wonderful reviews! They really make the effort worth it! **

**As always, hope you'll enjoy this;-)**

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Tempt Not a Desperate Man**

There was no light at the end of the tunnel. There was no tunnel. There was only a void. A deep, overbearing and threatening void.

She tried to wind her mind around any detail or slightest snippet of information about her life that she could recall and that would make the terrible blankness in her mind go away. She tried to remember that she had a name and that it was Stella Bonasera. It meant nothing here, though. Then she remembered she was a police detective. That seemed to mean even less to the empty stillness before her. Finally, she tried to wrap her mind around the gentle voice that kept reverberating in the deepest recesses of her tormented mind. It did bring her comfort and peace of mind. She couldn't make out the exact words nor recall the face that went with them but she knew it was someone who cared about her, someone good and caring. It anchored her to the present, wherever that was, and didn't allow her to sink even deeper down into the bottomless abyss.

Even though the voice finally stopped talking, she could still feel a reassuring presence lurking somewhere behind the veil of emptiness that enshrouded her. It seemed all she had to do was reach out her hand and she would be able to get to the other side and the comfort of the voice. Whenever she tried, though, an invisible barrier made her stop. She lost count of how many times she had attempted to breach the restraints but they held strong, their grip over her getting stronger the weaker she was becoming. Soon she felt her strength wane entirely and she slid down to the ground, hiding her face in her hands. Tears of helplessness and exhaustion started to slowly trickle down her cheeks but she didn't even have the strength to wipe them away.

Then a sudden tremor went through the stillness causing her to shake uncontrollably. Invisible tentacles started winding themselves around her being as if they were trying to rip her apart. They burned her with a fierce fire and made her mind explode in agony. She gasped, struggling with every last vestige of strength to fight the pain off. If she didn't, she felt it would obliterate her.

The safety and strength of the presence were long gone and she was alone in this fight. She felt herself slip down to an even deeper void sprawling below.

**XxXxXxX**

When Mac got back to the scene, he didn't find Hawkes and Danny processing the bar as they had been assigned to do. They were nowhere to be seen and Mac was already formulating a stern reprimand for the both of them when one of the duty uniforms directed him to a back alley a couple of yards away.

His missing CSIs were both there, busily snapping photos, tagging and bagging. Their work was centered around the body of a young woman lying in a puddle, a look of horror on her bloodless face. Mac took in the whole scene with a practiced eye before he could even think. Sheer force of habit automatically brought the CSI in him to the fore from underneath layers of anguish, fatigue and anxiety.

Hawkes, who was processing the vic, saw him first.

"Hey, Mac," he greeted him with a worried look on his face. "Thought you'd like to see this," he motioned at the girl and handed him a pair of latex gloves. "The uniforms have finished the sweep of the whole bar area that you ordered and that's what they found."

Mac slipped the gloves on and crouched near the body opposite Sheldon. He immediately spotted the finger indentations on her bare neck. Combined with the visible petechial hemorrhaging around the eyes it was a clear indicator of…

"Strangulation," Hawkes stated, gently moving the girl's head to the side to give Mac a better view of the finger imprints on her neck. "She fought her attacker, though," Sheldon moved on to show Mac the girl's bruised knuckles and bloodied fingers. "Clear defensive wounds. But no indications of a robbery or rape."

"This looks like a crime of passion," Mac said moving closer and scrutinizing the vic inch by inch. "There's some kind of material under her nails," he observed as he took a closer look at one of her hands. "If she fought and managed to scratch her attacker, then maybe we'll find her killer's DNA under there."

"I'll bag it straight away," Hawkes said.

Mac nodded and continued his examination of the vic for any other trace evidence. He tried to keep an indifferent and professional face but found it harder than usual. It was one of his rules to disengage himself emotionally, especially at a scene. This was the place to find out what happened, not who it happened to. A time to put a name and history to the victim would come later. Yet as he looked at the girl's face, her body position and the whole of the crime scene, he couldn't help but remember a strikingly similar case. His and Stella's very first case together.

"_The vic is Tracy Davis," Mac said as he approached Stella, who was snapping photos of the dead girl lying in the alley. "Detective Mulroney__ canvassed the neighbouring blocks and found out she lived with a boyfriend in the building to the right. The neighbours said they weren't the happiest couple. There were several house calls from the local precinct in the last months and she had been admitted to the hospital three times this year with signs of a severe beating but never filed any complaints…"_

"_And then the bastard got tired of his human punching bag," Stella said__, anger showing through every syllable. "And decided to get rid of her," she put down the camera and proceeded to take out a pair of tweezers from her kit but did it with somewhat too much force. The small instrument flew out of her fingers and landed near Mac's feet._

_She reached out for it at the same moment he did. Their hands touched and he looked her in the eye. She made a move to take her hand away but Mac held it gently in his and made her look him in the eye. _

"_Stella, I know in cases like this it's hard to separate yourself emotionally," he began and she gave him a tight-lipped expression, her eyes flashing angry sparks and telling him she didn't like where this was going._

"_Can you even try _not_ to be involved?" she asked sourly._

"_You have to. We aren't the prosecutors __and we aren't the jury here, Stella. We follow the evidence and see where it leads us. There is no place for assumptions or preconceived notions in this job. In the end, it always comes down to one thing – evidence."_

_It was__ as much what he said as how he said it – his calm manner and cool rationale made an impression on her. And she knew he was right. She did get too hot-headed whenever she saw women as victims in such violent crimes. Mac's reasoning was down-to-earth and helped her get her perspective straight. It worked like a bucket of cold water and she was thankful. _

"_Can I get my hand back now?" she asked with first signs of a small smile showing on her face._

"_Only __if you get your cool head back on with it," he said with a half-smile. Then he released her hand._

"_Ephrmenos xeno," she said under her breath not looking at him and he raised his eyebrow__ at her._

"_How can you be sure I don't know any Greek and don't know that you're cursing me right now?"_

"Do_ you know any Greek?" she asked unfazed. "How do you even know it was Greek?" she asked as an afterthought._

"_W__ell, with you being Greek…"_

"_I see someone's been reading my file," she said__ with a surprised smile, a look of realization forming on her face._

"_You got a head start __the other day," he observed. "I figured I had some catching up to do. That aside, I like to know who I'm working with," he gave her a shy smile. "Hope you're not offended."_

"_Actually, I'm flattered you'd take the trouble."_

"_It was a very informative read," he remarked._

"_Was it? I bet not as interesting as your resume."_

"_There's nothing that interesting there. You, on the other hand, masters in chemistry and forensic ballistics, minors in modern dance and Greek culture?" he looked at her incredulously. _

"_What can I say, I am a woman of many talents," she said with a mock expression of modesty on her face and he chuckled lightly._

_Then his gaze focused on something lying on the ground. He took another pair of tweezers and held it up for them both to see. It was a bullet shell. "9 mm, by the looks of it. With some unusual striations. Probably custom-made."_

"_Nice," Stella said as she took the tweezers from him and examined the shell. "I think you're right. But I figure you'd know your guns and bullets seeing that you're a Marine major, awarded a Bronze Star, a Purple Heart…Impressive."_

_He raised his eyebrows at her __with a look of utter shock. Played again. _

"_I like to know who I'm working with," she shrugged flashing him a cheeky grin. _

_Mac shook his head and __gave her an amazed frown before going back to inspecting the scene. _

"Think she had anything to do with the shooting?" Danny's voice brought Mac back to the present. The younger CSI was done photographing and was now standing over Sheldon and looking intently at the vic.

"Hard to say," Sheldon frowned. "Though Sullivan's is just a couple of yards away. Her TOD will tell us more," he added taking out the body thermometer from his kit. He gave Danny a small wave with it motioning for him to make more space for him.

"Knock yourself out, doc," Danny smirked lightly and moved aside.

Sheldon ignored him and focused on his examination.

"Well, if my math is right, she died somewhere between ten and midnight yesterday," he said looking up at Mac after a while. "But Sid will have to confirm that."

"Ok," Mac sighed. "Sheldon, you finish up here. Danny, you're with me, we're going back to the bar."

"Two crime scenes in one place where we happen to be at the time," Danny said with disbelief as they made their way towards Sullivan's. "I mean, what are the odds?"

"Just about the same as finding a strangled girl at a shooting scene," Mac replied with a tight-lipped expression.

**XxXxXxX**

"Complications?!" came the angry growl. "I told you this was supposed to be low-key! And you take machine guns and turn a bar full of people into a shooting range?!"

"I thought your primary concern was our efficiency not methods."

"You call this efficiency?! You didn't even do half the job you were supposed to! And now we're gonna have half the NYPD on our back."

"They don't have a thing on us and won't, trust me. And the rest of the job will be taken care of soon."

"Your self-confidence is truly heart-warming," came the snarky reply. "I only hope for your sake you're not confusing it with arrogance. This is your last chance to do this right and you'd better not screw it up. Or your next meeting won't be with me."

A startled silence followed.

"You mean…she's coming to New York?"

"Like hell she is."

**XxXxXxX**

When the scene was swept clean and all possible evidence and more gathered, Danny and Hawkes went back to the lab. Mac decided to linger a while longer and make one last round around the bar to be absolutely sure they hadn't overlooked anything. When he was finally satisfied, he headed for the police building as well. He didn't go straight to the lab, though, directing his steps towards the locker-room instead.

He found he needed a moment alone to rebuild his composure before he could face the reality of the lab without Stella. Normally she was always there to help him deal with the aftermath of the most disturbing and painful cases that really got to him, this time around she was a part of it. As if that wasn't enough, his mind kept throwing at him these memories, all focusing on Stella. They made him even more painfully aware that she had been a part of all the most important events in his life for more than a decade. Hell, _she_ was one of the most important events in his life.

Another thing that just wouldn't leave his thoughts was Tracy Davis. He firmly believed in what he had told Stella all those years ago standing over her dead body – you had to separate yourself emotionally or you wouldn't be able to do this job. But this time around he found he wasn't able to take his own advice. How could he when it was Stella lying unconscious in a hospital bed?

He felt a heavy burden weigh him down and he had to ease himself on one of the benches. He automatically started to undo the buttons of his ruined shirt with slow, deliberate movements. When he got it off, he held it in his hands, his gaze focused on stains of Stella's blood smudged all over it. He was all but spent of all emotions by then but looking at the miserable piece of clothing that was such a pronounced reminder of the drama that had played out in the last twenty four hours, he felt a painful pang that reverberated from his heart into the deepest corners of his soul and mind.

To the outside world he showed a composed and stoic front, something he had become a master of. The walls he built around himself were the best way he knew how to protect himself. This time around, it wasn't working.

**XxXxXxX**

"Please tell me this is the last of glass," Adam said in a pleading tone in Danny's direction as he carted in another batch of evidence. There were already ten boxes of glass shards piled next to the lab tech's working station.

"Yes, it is," Danny replied with a mock serious face.

"Oh, thank…"

"Just tell me when I can start bringing all the other boxes."

"But you said…"

"You asked about glass," Danny smirked. "Not a word about wood or plastic."

"Swell," Adam said with an unhappy look on his face.

"By the way, don't mean to pressure you or anything but Mac wants this done as fast as possible."

As if on cue, they both looked in the direction of their boss's office. Ever since Mac came in wearing a plain sweater and slacks instead of his usual suit, which spoke volumes in itself, he had been sitting in his office going over preliminary reports and writing out the most important facts on the glass walls. He only did that when a case really got under his skin and meant he would practically live in his office until it was solved. He had also ordered all the processed and analyzed evidence be brought directly to his working space and went out only to supervise an analysis or reconstruction of some sort. He didn't look well and barely spoke to any of them.

"Any news about Stella?" Adam asked in concern.

"Nothing," Danny sighed.

"God, this is just so wrong."

"I know. But all we can do right now is do our jobs as best as we can," Danny patted him lightly on the shoulder.

"Right, right," Adam nodded and turned to the mountains of glass piling on his working table with double urgency.

**XxXxXxX**

Sitting at the desk in his office, Mac looked at his watch. It was almost four a.m. He drew his hand over his tired face to ward off the fatigue and continued to peer over an analysis of glass shards from Sullivan's that Adam had finished before calling it a day. Mac was the last of the team still at the lab. They wanted to work through the night but Mac made them all go early to have some time to take care of themselves and deal with the trauma of the last twenty four hours. All Mac could think of doing that would help him deal with it was stay up and look at the evidence so long until he finally saw something that made sense. Up till now it wasn't working. But the scientist and investigator in him wasn't ready to give up just yet.

Then the phone on his desk began to ring. He looked at it with a frown. A call at this hour didn't spell anything good.

"Taylor," he said into the speaker, slightly annoyed.

"Sir, we have a connection from the tip line concerning your bar shooting investigation."

Mac's pulse quickened. This could finally be something they could hook the investigation onto.

"Put it through," he ordered the police operator.

There was silence on the other side, then Mac thought he heard muffled breathing. "Hello?" he said. "This is detective Mac Taylor. Who am I speaking to?"

There were several more frantic breaths and finally a male voice spoke. The man on the other side sounded distressed.

"Detective Taylor, I have to speak to you. There is something you must know about the shooting at the Sullivan's. Meet me in an hour at 271 West 47th Street, 65th floor. It's a new high-rise in midtown. Come alone." And he hung up.

Mac didn't think and didn't analyze. There was no time and he was only too eager to finally be able to do something substantial that would help push the case forward. He took his Glock out from his drawer. With expert precision and routine he loaded the gun and secured it in the holster on his belt. As he quickly donned his jacket, he frowned. His right arm, which had been injured in the shooting and was now sporting some serious stitching, was still stiff and sore when he moved too vehemently like now. He brushed the pain off, as he always did, and quickly left the office.

**XxXxXxX**

Mac flashed his badge to the lone guard at the security point and went for the elevators. The high-rise was still under construction and when the doors closed behind him on the appropriate floor, he was instantly enveloped in complete darkness. He took out his flashlight and held it in one hand to illuminate his immediate surroundings while his other hand reached for his gun, which he aimed in front of him.

He slowly started to walk ahead trying to make out any shapes as he moved forward and make as little noise as possible. As he stealthily made his way through the unused office space, a feeling of unease began to creep up his spine. He was slowly starting to regret he didn't take any back-up with him. This was all too clandestine and suspicious.

He was about to reach for his cell when he heard the all too familiar sound of a gun safety being taken off right next to his ear.

"Don't move," came a warning voice from behind him and he felt the cold barrel of the gun press into his neck. "Drop the gun and slowly put your hands up where I can see them."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the cliffie (not so much really, though;-) – don't shoot!)! As always, do let me know how you liked this chap!**

A few technical details – the high-rise at 271 West 47th Street in New York is not really new, and the Greek 'ephrmenos xeno' basically means a conceited non-Greek person;-) (remember 'My Big Fat Greek Wedding'?) Hope I got the grammar right – if not, please no flames, I tried but I'm not Greek myself and it's a really tough language!


	4. Friends And Foes

**While You Were Sleeping**

**Summary:** What if it wasn't Danny who got shot at the bar? What if it was someone Mac Taylor cared even more about? As Mac is forced to deal with his feelings and a deadly opponent, Stella's life teeters on the brink. SMacked, some DL, post ep. 525, drama/action/suspense

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

**As always, hope you'll enjoy this!**

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Friends and Foes**

As the cold barrel dug into Mac's nape threateningly, he allowed himself an inward curse for his recklessness. He should have known better. Danny would surely have a field day with this. It was something he would do but not Mac. First he had to get out of this alive, though.

He slowly lifted his hands up trying to gain as much time as possible. He looked around searching for anything that would help him distract the attacker but it was too dark to see anything clearly. The only illumination was coming from the huge windows which made up one of the walls of the newly built space. There was one thing that stood out, though.

There was a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The night lights of the city caught in the tiny crystal prisms created eerie reflexes that bounced off the floor and walls. The refracted light created a subdued halo of blue and violet around the piece giving the whole space a surreal look. Had it not been for the circumstances, Mac would have appreciated the light fixture for its aesthetic values. Looking at it right now, he figured there was another way to appreciate it. More practical.

"Listen," he said, lightly shifting his balance to his other foot. "I only came here to talk."

"We'll talk all right," came the snarky reply. "Now do like I said or you won't do much talking ever again," and he dug the gun still deeper into Mac's neck.

Mac reluctantly let his Glock fall to the ground.

"That's better. Now we can _talk_," the man spat derisively.

"It was you who called me?" Mac asked.

The man chuckled.

"I didn't honestly think you'd let yourself get ambushed that easily," the man couldn't stop himself from gloating and Mac allowed himself a somber half-smile in the dark. It never failed to amaze him how easily thugs fell into the trap of self-satisfaction and arrogance when they had the upper hand. Or thought they had.

"I think I've overestimated you, detective Taylor," the man continued.

"And I think…" Mac began and suddenly threw an elbow into the man's ribs at the same time diving to the ground to avoid the gun. A shot reverberated through the empty space but the man was thrown off balance by Mac's unexpected blow and the bullet lodged itself harmlessly in the ceiling.

Mac rolled over, his gun back in his hand. He stood up just as the shooter managed to regain his balance. They were now both standing face to face aiming their guns at one another.

"…you've overestimated yourself," Mac finished with grim satisfaction.

The man was wearing a baseball cap and his face was covered with a bandana from nose down but Mac could see the panic rising in his eyes. This was certainly not the way he had planned this.

"You can give up now and save your life or we solve this your way," Mac continued in a calm voice.

He could have taken the man down with one shot right now but he needed him alive. He needed to know what he knew. The shooting was no one man's job.

Mac saw hesitation in the thug's gaze and then he tightened the grip on his gun. Two shots fired almost at the same time and Mac ducked behind crates prepared for unpacking lying idly nearby. He couldn't say if he had hit the other man or where the thug was. He peered up from behind his cover and caught a flicker of movement to his right. He had to quickly hide back behind the crates because a series of shots swished in his direction hitting the boxes. As soon as they died down, he shot back at his assailant, aiming his last bullet upwards.

The shot severed the chandelier from the ceiling bringing it down with a loud and profound bang. Mac heard a surprised yelp and was up from behind the boxes in a second. Mac saw blood mixed with crystal shards now scattered over the centre of the space and knew his plan had worked. But the other man wasn't there. He must have been only slightly injured and had a head start. Mac saw a shadow disappear in the elevator. He fired several more shots but the doors had already closed. He cursed silently and ran for the emergency stairs.

When he got to the ground floor, he saw small specks of blood leading away to the back exit. He followed them out and saw a shadow disappear behind the corner. He started after him, determined not to let him get away. The thug wasn't going to give up that easily, too, and led Mac through a number of twists and turns. He sure knew his way around. Mac stopped taking notice of the number of blocks they passed after three. The man was still keeping a solid distance between them but he was injured and Mac knew he would tire and lose strength much faster than he himself. However, suddenly the man made a sharp turn to the side and by the time Mac got there, there wasn't a trace of any movement anywhere. Mac ran down the alley back and forth but the man was gone as if he had vanished into thin air.

"Dammit!" Mac allowed himself a labored curse in between rapid intakes of air as he bent down resting his hands over his knees trying to get his breath back. He quickly grabbed his phone and dialed Flack.

As he waited for the uniforms to arrive, he made another sweep of the alley but there was no trace of the man and no blood trail. When Danny and Sheldon got here with the kits and equipment, they would surely be able to find something. They had to or this case had just gone even more wayward than he could have imagined. For now, there wasn't much Mac could do but wait. He slowly walked out from the alley and was stunned to realize that his chase had taken him almost to Ground Zero. As he looked at the fencing and the memorial plaques, he was immediately overwhelmed by a surge of emotions bad and worse. This place would be forever burned into his heart and soul.

_I__t was a terrible accident. A plane gone horribly off course. A human error or a malfunction. But only that. His thoughts immediately ran to Claire - the evac would be hell and he imagined she would be angry and frustrated because she had an important meeting that day. _

_Then the second plane hit and it was no longer just another accident. It was a full-blown tragedy and an attack. By that time he had called her cell and office a dozen times but there was no answer. When the reporters on Channel 5 reported that the staff on the higher floors had become trapped, that was it. He ran from his office and out of the police building onto the street. People were standing in the streets in a shocked stupor, their mouths agape, all facing the huge plume of smoke coming from the direction of the Twin Towers. _

_He__ didn't think or analyze. There was only one thing occupying his mind and heart – Claire. He jumped into his department vehicle and turned the siren on but he didn't drive far. The roads leading up to the site were blocked by car traffic and the fire brigades rolling in. Numb with shock and worry, he left his car and started afoot. It was starting to get difficult to breathe because of all the dust and soot but he didn't heed it. Suddenly, as he got nearer, the earth started to shake and there was a tremendous rumble like a roar to be heard. Clouds of smoke and dust obscured the sky and for a moment he couldn't see but a few feet away. The dust got into his eyes and mouth and he started coughing hard but pushed on. He felt his heart constrict in his chest and tears in his eyes. His rational mind and experience were starting to produce dreadful images and premonitions his heart wasn't able to acknowledge. It never would completely. _

"_Mac!"_

_O__ne solitary voice cut through the eerie silence that had enveloped Manhattan after the Towers had collapsed and reached out to him from behind tons of dust and debris flying everywhere and obstructing the view. His first thought was that it was Claire. She had found him and was running to him, all safe and sound. He turned around trying to get to her voice, his breath caught in his throat as he saw the female silhouette emerge from the smoke. He didn't notice or care that she was coming from the opposite direction than the towers were. _

"_Mac!" _

_She was finally close enough for him to see her. When he looked into Stella's terrified face and wide eyes, he couldn't help but feel profound disappointment and anger start to rise within him. He tried to ignore her and walk further but she ran up to him and grabbed him by his shirt making him stop._

"_Mac! This is madness!" she shouted holding him tightly. "Do you want to get yourself killed?"_

"_Claire's in there!" he shouted angrily pushing her away._

"_Mac, goddammit!" she was standing before him again, her eyes flashing angry sparks from underneath a film of tears, which were starting to flow down her face creating strange convoluted patterns on her soot-covered cheeks. "The fire brigades and rescue crews are all there! There is nothing you can do, Mac!" she placed her hands on his chest and planted her feet firmly on the ground making him stop._

"My wife's_ in there, Stella! Move away or I swear I'll make you!" _

_He could see shock and pain flash through her eyes but that didn't matter then. All that mattered was somewhere in the plume of smoke before him. Stella wouldn't give up, though. Pain in her eyes was quickly replaced by steel as she held her ground._

"_Then make me! Cause I'm not moving! I will not let you get yourself killed! You can't help her, Mac!" she hit an angry fist over his chest and it did sober him up a little. "Claire is probably fine and already on her way home! What will I tell her when she learns that I let you walk to your death?"_

_Her words offered hope and her firm voice instilled in him a fragile sense of comfort. As he looked at her, her earnest expression did put some reason back into his analytical and rational mind. Then he finally allowed himself to be led away in a silent stupor. _

_He__ spent the rest of the day trying to contact Claire or get any information about her. He tried using all his contacts and favours as well as Stella's and the department chief's but to no avail. No one knew anything. Everything was in complete chaos. Claire didn't call him that day. Nor any other. _

_He didn't remember how he got to his apartment that evening or how he ended up on his couch. He had lost track of time completely and everything was covered in a grim haze of pain. All he remembered was the soothing voice that sounded almost like Claire's telling him it was going to be all right, gentle hands tenderly stroking his face and the taste of tears that were not his._

The wail of police sirens brought him back from his stupor. He looked up just to see Flack get out of his police car and approach him.

"Mac, are you ok?" came Don's worried voice.

"I will be when we catch this guy," he replied wryly.

**XxXxXxX **

She was curled in a fetal position in one of the corners behind the curtain, and she could barely make out the small form of Mindy huddled in a ball under the bed. The screams were getting louder, though, and they both knew they wouldn't escape Garth's drunken wrath. Soon enough, he was stomping on the stairs shouting to himself and then barging through the door to their room.

"Where are you, you two brats!" he yelled looking wildly around the darkened room.

He had difficulty finding the light switch so he groped around in the half-light for a while and both girls caught their breaths, paralyzed from fear in their hiding places. With a growl of success he finally managed to turn the lights on. He didn't spot the ten-year old Stella behind the curtain but he managed to spy Mindy as she moved under the bed not aware he was watching.

With a roar of triumph he dragged her form under the bed and held her by her hair, dark strands left in his large hand.

"You've touched what wasn't yours and you will pay for it!" he shook Mindy and when she started crying he hit her on the face with the back of his hand.

That was enough for Stella. She willed her fear to subside, clenched her fists and jumped out from behind the curtain.

"You leave her alone!" she shouted trying to protect the younger girl with her own body.

"You want to be brave, huh?" came the snarky reply and Stella gulped knowing what was coming. The pain was sudden and sharp and she felt a trickle of blood run down her temple. She bit down her tears and stared the tyrant straight into the eyes.

"Feisty as always!" he growled and grasped her by the collar. "We'll see how brave you are in the basement!"

Stella's eyes widened in fear as she felt herself dragged downstairs and then shoved into the dark mouldy space. She heard the lock click on the other side and was enveloped in utter darkness. She didn't try to scream or wrench the door open. She knew it wouldn't work. It never did. Stella shuddered and brought her legs under her chin, stifling a sob.

Suddenly she felt there was somebody there with her. It wasn't a scary or intimidating presence, though. It offered warmth and comfort, something she hadn't known much in life. It threaded a strange sense of hope into her heart and eased her fears. Her eyelids began to droop and soon she was asleep and away from the nightmarish reality of her childhood, tumbling down a dark bottomless void again.

**XxXxXxX**

"I did something stupid today, Stell," Mac confessed in a whisper as he took Stella's hand in his. "I guess it's good you're unconscious or you would have given me a right tongue-lashing," he looked up at her unmoving face with a half-smile. "And I'd have deserved every word of it. But I had to do something. And when that man called, it seemed like my only option."

He drew a hand over his face to fend off fatigue. Hawkes and Danny had processed the alley but found nothing. The office space seemed more promising and hopefully the blood and other trace his assailant-to-be had left would give them a hit in CODIS and something to work with.

"I don't know what else to do. I feel so damn helpless!" he ended in a raised voice but collected himself immediately. "Sorry. It's just that…I'm at a dead end here and…" he scrutinized her face again. "I'm scared, Stella," he finally confessed. "Scared I might never get you back. Last time I felt like this was on 9/11. You remember when you ran after me and all but saved my life? And then watched over me, ferried me home and fed me because I'd have just sat there in my office and wouldn't move? I was a mess and you were always there, even when I shouted at you and threw your kindness back in your face. I don't think I've ever thanked you for that," he looked at her earnestly. "I took your support, your warmth and your passion in stride, never even considering that you didn't have to give them to me at all. I took it all for granted like it was due to me. And all I could ever do in return was shut you out," he felt his eyes dangerously moist and he caught a ragged breath.

He rapidly stood up and turned around to the window covering his mouth with his hand. _Oh, this is too much. How much can one man take? Why is everything I care about taken away from me?_

When he regained his composure, he turned back to her. "I'm never going to shut you out again, Stella. Just come back. Come back to me."

Then reality caught up with him as his phone buzzed to life.

"Taylor," he answered it after several rings when he was sure his voice wouldn't fail him. "Yes, Danny. Ok, I'll be there asap."

He looked back at Stella.

"Maybe what I did wasn't that stupid after all," he said with a small smile and was out the door.

**XxXxXxX**

"Talk to me, Danny," Mac said walking up to the younger CSI who was seated at one of the working stations.

"So, I've got good news and bad news."

Mac rubbed his forehead. "Give me the bad news first."

"The usual, I see," Danny motioned at the computer screen which read NO MATCH FOUND in big red letters. "There was no hit in CODIS for the blood from your attacker. I've ran it through every database available but it still turned up nothing."

Mac muttered a curse. "What's the good news, then?"

"The blood from your attacker has the same DNA as the tissue we found under our Jane Doe's fingernails and on her body."

Mac frowned. "So my attacker is the girl's killer?"

"Getting weirder and weirder, huh?"

"Weird is good, Danny," Mac said with a ruminative look on his face. "This means whatever we find on that girl may also lead us to the shooting perps. I want you to look over everything we've had from her again only this time figure everything we have from the shooting into the analysis," Mac ordered. "Get Lindsay to help you. Sheldon and I will work on the evidence from the office. This mysterious guy's has just become our prime suspect."

"On it, boss."

**XxXxXxX**

Like the whole team, Lindsay had come to the lab much earlier than usual. Danny was called in earlier still to process a shooting Mac was involved in. Thankfully Mac was unscathed but this was all taking another very wrong turn and Lindsay couldn't quell the feeling of unease that had lodged itself in her stomach and wouldn't let go.

Mac had come in an hour ago and she could see he hadn't slept at all. She also knew he had been to the hospital. It was that look on his face. Frustration mixed with anger and something more tender she couldn't put her finger on. It wasn't a look Lindsay had ever seen on his face before the shooting happened. She chanced another glance into his office, peering up from Jane Doe's homicide evidence she was working on with Danny. She frowned seeing Mac still standing and staring at the evidence now pinned to all possible surfaces of his office. the she turned her gaze to Danny who was working nearby.

"Don't you think someone should talk to him?" she asked.

Danny looked up from his work.

"Talk to who, Linds?"

"Mac," she said. "I mean, he went to that building all alone. No back up, no nothing. He could have been easily killed. He's always such a stickler for protocol and this time he recklessly went straight into a trap without even looking back. It sounds something like you would do…but Mac?"

"Gee, thanks, Linds. Always wanted to know what you _really_ thought about me."

"Danny, you're focusing on the wrong part of what I've just said…" she said with exasperation. "Not everything is about you, you know."

"And I love you, too."

"You are such a child."

"That's why you love me, right?"

Lindsay rolled her eyes.

"No, that's why Lucy loves you. Same level of emotional development."

"Watch out, Montana, or you'll be on poo duty all next week."

"Nice try. I won that bet fair and square and you're not weaseling out of it now," she said in a mock stern tone but then her smile disappeared died on her lips. "Danny, I'm serious about Mac. We know his work is his life but this...has he slept or eaten since the shooting?"

Danny's gaze wandered towards the solitary figure standing in the middle of the office on the other side of the corridor.

"Linds, Mac normally never sleeps or eats," he said with a sigh. "I mean…that's Mac. It's how he is. He was the same when Claire died and he still pulled through that even stronger."

"Yeah, well, from what I know he had Stella breaking his arm into eating and sleeping back then. Now…he has nobody, Danny."

"He's got us, Linds," Danny placed a tender kiss on his wife's cheek. "And when he really needs something, he'll say so, believe me," he waved a bagged piece of evidence in front of him. "Now I gotta run this through fingerprints or Mac, even if he is underfed and underslept, will still have my head. I'll see you. And don't worry, he'll be fine."

Lindsay just nodded but as she looked at Mac again, she didn't seem so convinced. One thing that Danny said still rang in her ears. _He's got us_…it was time she did something to make that true.

**XxXxXxX**

"And you are sure this is your sister, Mr. Malley?" Flack asked showing the man sitting before him the photos of Jane Doe found near the shooting scene.

"Yes," came the weak voice of the young man. "That's Jane. God, I only saw her three days ago. She was fine," the man looked at Flack with teary eyes. "How did this happen?"

"The investigation is still pending so there's not much I can tell you. It could have been a robbery. She had nothing on her. No ID, no wallet."

"Jesus," the man uttered.

He was in obvious anguish but Don had to continue the interview. The brother could know something that could lead them to the shooting perps. "You filed the missing person report today morning. Why?"

"I…," the man looked up in confusion. Then he cleared his throat in embarrassment. "Sorry," he said apologetically. "We were supposed to meet for lunch yesterday. When she didn't show up or return any of my calls, I came here. Knowing that boyfriend of hers…"

"Boyfriend?" Flack quickly asked sensing a possible lead.

"Yeah, she lived with him. I knew that bastard was no good. He was a couple of months out of jail for drugs. But she wouldn't listen. And now she's dead."

"The guy has a name?"

"Yeah, Chad. Chad Montero."

"We'll see into this," Flack said noting the name down. Then he looked up at the man with a sympathetic expression. "I am truly sorry for your loss. There will be someone with you shortly to take you to the morgue for full identification."

Then he excused himself and started dialing.

**XxXxXxX**

When Lindsay had once said this wasn't her strongest suit, she really meant it. She wasn't the reactive, emotional type and she was certainly the last person to initiate any deep confessions or sincere heart-to-heart conversations. Danny had enough of that in him for the both of them. But now she was a wife and a mother and that changed your perspective and your sensitivity.

That said, she still didn't feel like the right person to do this but the boys were even worse. So, she had to fight a true battle of wills with herself before approaching Mac. He wasn't exactly who you call a person wearing his heart on his sleeve. To be honest, he was the most introverted and inscrutable people she had ever met. But he was also her friend and her daughter's godfather and she was worried about him.

She was at a loss on how to approach him. She never had to do such a thing before because there was always Stella around. The direct, funny and warm Stella who always knew what was going through Mac's head and what to do about it, even if it meant locking horns with him. But now she wasn't there and Mac was clearly in a bad shape.

So Lindsay decided to go with the flow and improvise. She knew Mac liked and trusted her. As she pushed the door to his office open, she only hoped it would be enough.

The sight that welcomed her was intimidating. She hadn't been to Mac's office since the shooting investigation began and what she had seen from the outside looked even scarier on the inside. Mac's office had lost all of its glass walls under tons of pictures, reports and results concerning the shooting. Even the floor was littered with various scraps and other tidbits. The usually systematic and pedantic owner of the office was sitting in his chair in a wrinkled sweater, which was worrying in itself. When he looked up to face her, she became even more worried. He was ghastly white, there were shadows under his eyes and wrinkles around his eyes and lips she had never seen there before.

"Hi," she began tentatively.

"What is it, Lindsay?" he asked. "Anything from the cross-check analysis?"

"Not yet but we might have a lead on one of the chemical compounds in the trace on Jane Doe's pants. Danny's working on it as we speak and he should have something more soon."

"That's good," he said and returned to the papers he was reading.

Lindsay mustered up her courage and cleared her throat to get his attention once again. When he looked up, she saw he was surprised she was still there.

"Something else, Lindsay?"

"Mac…when was the last time you ate or had a good night's sleep?" Lindsay asked deciding going straight off the bat was the best way. The only way she could handle.

She did get his full attention now. He put away the pen he was holding and looked at her with that piercing gaze which had lost nothing in its acuteness and perceptiveness.

"I'm fine, Lindsay. Nothing I can't handle," he finally replied weighing his words. "Why?"

"Mac, I…we all…," she corrected herself looking at him with slight apprehension. "…are worried about you. We all miss Stella acutely but you…all this…," she motioned towards the mess around them. "Barricading yourself in your office for hours buried under tons of paper, going alone to suspicious meetings, pushing yourself to the limits… It won't help her, Mac, you driving yourself to the verge of exhaustion."

He sighed and stood up.

"I have been studying these walls every moment since the shooting to answer one question," he lifted his index finger. "Who had a reason to want one or all of us dead. Despite all this evidence – crime reports, possible suspects, witness accounts-" as he spoke he went around his desk and turned towards the walls, motioning at them. "-I am no closer to answering that question than I was the night it had happened. Two people are dead, three seriously wounded and Stella is in a coma," he drew his hand over his face as if to brush off exhaustion and worry. Then he looked at her again. "I have to do everything in my power to find the one who did this or I don't know how I will live with myself. If Stella doesn't wake from that coma…"

Lindsay walked up to him and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"She's the strongest woman I know, Mac. She will wake up," she mustered a smile. "You know she will. And we will get whoever did this," she said with conviction.

Mac looked at her, knowing and appreciating what she was doing. It was Stella who taught him to appreciate such small things and gestures from others in the first place. A weathered soldier, an experienced detective and a cruelly widowed husband, Mac was the last person to want to have to anything to do with emotions but as Stella displayed her warm and passionate nature to him every so often, he found to his surprise that feelings and emotions were indeed an indispensible part of life. His life, too. As much as he wanted to, he was not an island and Stella made him aware of this every day – of a need inside him he wasn't even aware of himself. Only thanks to her had he finally been able to gradually start coming to terms with all the feelings he kept so carefully at bay and bottled up all these years.

But he wasn't there yet. Especially the last days had been hard. He wanted to tell Lindsay how his worry for Stella was killing him, how the sight of her bloodless face in the bar kept him up at night and when he finally did manage to sleep, how the nightmares in which he saw her dead woke him up instantly. But he found he couldn't. Anger, frustration, anxiety – those were the only feelings he found he could tap into and he didn't want to burden her with it.

"Yeah," he only said and for Lindsay's sake managed a frown which he hoped at least resembled a smile.

Lindsay only sighed knowing she didn't convince him in the least. Then she had an idea. "Mac, why don't you come by for dinner tomorrow? I'm cooking spaghetti," she said encouragingly.

"Lindsay, I don't…"

"I know Lucy would be thrilled to see her godfather," she added quickly before he managed to produce his excuse.

"You can't play the Lucy card, Lindsay," Mac said with a frown. "That's not fair."

"You leave me no choice," she smiled innocently. "Besides, Mac, face it. You have to eat just like the rest of us."

That managed to get a small smile on his face. "I'll try, ok?"

"I'll settle with that answer," she said with a small frown. "For now," she added with a small wave of her finger in his direction.

He chuckled lightly. She nodded her head and made to leave but his voice made her stop.

"Lindsay?" he called her name and gave her a smile that finally reached his eyes. "Thank you."

She smiled back and left. When she was at a safe distance, she breathed a sigh of relief. That went well. She wasn't eaten alive. And she actually made Mac smile. This was progress. She was no Stella but she could be a friend to Mac, too. She knew she wanted to. Very much.

Back in his office, Mac also allowed himself a deep intake of air. Lindsay had surprised him. He had gotten used to Stella wrenching him out of the office but coming from the younger CSI, it was something new. To his own surprise, he welcomed it. It was comforting to know people cared about you. He frowned. Stella brushing off of him again. He was thankfully saved from further painful dwellings on the gaping hole Stella left in his life by the sound of his desk phone.

"Taylor."

"Hey, Mac. Our Jane is no longer a Doe," Flack said. "And I've got a lead. Wanna come for a ride?"

"I'll meet you at the precinct," Mac said and put down the phone, already donning his jacket.

* * *

**A/N: ****I've decided not to end a chapter with an evil cliffie for a change, especially as there are several more to come;-) I still hope you liked it! As always, do let me know:-) The green button is right under your cursor;-)**

**A/N 2: I'm sorry if this was too much of an emotional ride but the 9/11 experience was probably one of the hardest in Mac's life and a defining point for his further life as well as his relationship with Stella so I had to include it – how did you like my take on it?**


	5. My Sweetest Escape

**While You Were Sleeping**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, this chapter was supposed to go up yesterday but you know how it is, real life tends to get in the way sometimes…**

**Anyways, I hope you****'ll enjoy this update and thanks so much for your reviews, alerts and favs – don't stop:-)**

* * *

**Chapter 5**** – My Sweetest Escape**

Chad Montero had seen his share of cops over the years. The two who had 'politely' brought him down to the precinct for an interview seemed not much different. They sat him on one end of the table in the interrogation room and positioned themselves opposite him. The taller one with blue eyes stood over him piercing him menacingly with his stare while the other sat down at the table in front of him. He was wearing a suit jacket with a matching button-down dress shirt and looked like he scowled all the time. They introduced themselves as detectives Flack and Mac Taylor.

"Mac and Flack, huh?" Chad smirked. "That's cute. You should start up a band or something."

"With that sparkling wit _you_ should start up a comedy show," Flack said snarkily. "Since this has started off so friendly, why don't you tell us where you were this Tuesday evening?"

Chad furrowed his eyebrows, not sure where this was going and answered warily with a nonchalant shrug, "Hangin' out at my apartment."

"Anyone can confirm that?"

"Yeah, my cat," he scoffed.

Flack looked at him with a half-smile, another cutting remark ready on his lips, but Mac silenced him with a serious look and glowered at their suspect.

"How about your girlfriend?" he asked straight off the bat.

That did take Chad unawares and he goggled at Mac.

"My girlfriend? What's Jane got to do with this?"

"Everything," Flack spoke curtly and went up to him, propping his hands on the table and looking down at him. "She's dead. But you had no idea, right?"

Chad looked at him in complete shock.

"Dead? What do you mean, dead? I only talked to her on Tuesday!"

"What time?"

"I don't know. Five, six."

"We're going to need your phone, Mr. Montero," Mac said.

"My phone?" Chad tried to scowl back at him but quickly averted his gaze admitting a silent defeat. He had no chance with the intensity and cold determination in the other man's stare. "Don't you need a warrant for that?" he tried, choosing to turn his gaze towards the other detective, who seemed to be the good cop in this game. Soon he realized he was wrong. There was no good cop at all.

"We would if you were a suspect," Flack drawled. "Since you're a witness for now, we're politely asking. But let me tell you, your status may change very quickly if you don't cooperate."

"Is this a threat?"

"No, just a friendly warning. Besides, you had nothing to do with Jane's death so what's the problem?"

"You can go to hell!"

"Chad, with your impressive rap sheet you're in no position to play with us," Flack said in a warning tone. "And let me be clear, if you _don't_ start to cooperate, you'll get to know Big Joe from cell six way better than you'd ever want."

"You've got nothing on me!" he spat.

"Not yet," Mac spoke with a pleasant smile that didn't reach his eyes. "But it doesn't look good for you, Mr. Montero. Two people are dead and a police officer seriously wounded in relation to Jane's death and we're quite eager to get the one behind this. So you'd better cooperate and tell us all you know right now," he enunciated. "Or believe me, if I have to, I will go to the judge and the DA and do everything short of moving mountains to see to it that your sorry ass lands in jail again."

Chad gulped. There was nothing wishy-washy about this guy and his declaration. Spiting him just for spiting's sake was starting to smell of suicide. As Mac levelled his steely gaze at him once again, Chad turned to the other detective but once again found it to be a mistake. He was met with an equally hard expression.

"Don't look at me," Flack said with a shrug. "If he doesn't move that mountain, I will."

Chad thought he finally understood what the expression 'like a mouse in a trap' meant.

**XxXxXxX**

On his way back from the precinct, Mac spotted Danny in the lab's main corridor.

"Danny, get this to processing," he said in the direction of the younger CSI handing him a cell phone wrapped in an evidence bag. "This might be the guy's we're looking for."

"You recognized him?"

"I'm not certain. He's the same build and similar height but I can't be sure. And he insists he didn't have anything to do with the shooting," Mac rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Flack has only just gotten a lead on him so I also need you to do a DNA profile. He's already in the system, run him against what we've got."

Danny took the bagged phone from him and looked at it ruminatively, obviously rolling something else over in his mind. Finally he looked up at Mac with an unsure expression on his face.

"So, Mac, you're coming to dinner tomorrow, right?" he asked a bit sheepishly.

Mac looked at him with a small frown. "Danny, I..."

"Come on, Mac," the younger CSI cut him off knowing Mac was going to produce an excuse. "You could use an evening not spent in your office or at the hospital."

"Danny, it's really kind of you and Lindsay to have me but I don't think I make the best dinner company these days," he ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration.

"Mac, Linds didn't invite you because of your brilliant conversation skills," Danny smirked and Mac raised an eyebrow at him. "She invited you because you're our friend and our daughter's godfather. You're practically family, Mac," he said earnestly.

Mac sighed, though he couldn't say he wasn't touched.

"Besides," Danny added seeing Mac was still unconvinced. "I don't need an underslept _and_ hungry boss on my back right now," he finished with a cheeky grin.

Mac finally allowed himself a small smile, too.

"How about a get-your-ass-to-DNA-right-now boss?"

"If you put it this way...," Danny sighed with mock disappointment but as he looked back at Mac, a playful expression returned to his face. "But if you think pulling rank will allow you to excuse yourself from tomorrow, Mac..."

"Ok, ok," Mac put a hand up to stop him, finally conceding his defeat. "I'll come. What should I bring?"

"Just yourself," Danny said with a grin twitching on his face. "Only without that sombre expression, ok?" he winked and Mac chuckled lightly.

**XxXxXxX**

Sheldon Hawkes hoped the night shift would turn out to be good on his nerves, which after the shooting were frayed to say the least. Mac didn't know that he wasn't the only one who lost sleep over Stella's coma, images of her bloody unmoving face springing up behind his eyelids as soon as he closed his eyes. A trained surgeon and a weathered CSI as he was, the sight of her lying in a puddle of her own blood was terrifying and had left an indelible imprint on his memory.

Stella had always been a pillar of strength for him – always ready to help with a smile on her face, always respecting his medical expertise, always understanding of and, more often than not, joining in his nerdy streak. He admired and loved her as a friend and fellow CSI, which made all this even worse, if possible. So he chose to take night shifts figuring since he couldn't sleep anyway, he could at least get something useful done. Also, it was his trained practice from his ME times here that things ran slower at night in the lab. Not this time, though. He had already been called to one gory crime scene and when he came back, the results from Danny's DNA comparative analysis for the shooting had finally come up and they weren't good.

Sheldon allowed himself a frustrated sigh. He was tempted to run the test again just to be sure but he knew the equipment worked just fine and the result of the second test would come out the same as the first one. As much as he would want to finally have someone to work on in the shooting case, Chad Montero was not that someone.

**XxXxXxX**

When Mac later recalled the day following Chad Montero's interrogation, he always did it with mixed feelings. What began badly turned out fine in the end but it didn't spare his nerves or health in the process. Upon arriving at the office, he was met with Sheldon bearing bad news about Montero being clear in Jane Malley's case and the shooting. Then Sinclair put the screws on him by demanding Mac choose a stand-in for Stella as he was getting complaints that the lab was understaffed and couldn't handle all cases. And to top it all off, a can of soda he was having for lunch exploded in his hands and spilled all over his shirt and desk. So when the evening finally came and it was time to leave for the Messers, Mac was tired, frustrated and completely not in the mood.

Also, he felt odd leaving the lab as early as eight in the evening. Donning his suit jacket, he took one last cursory glance at the mess that was his office these days. Notes, reports, witness accounts and all things related to the shooting littered every surface, be it horizontal or vertical, all of them bearing the marks of being read, re-read and analyzed over and over again. All this work and effort and still he was no closer to finding the shooters. The clearing of Chad Montero brought them back basically to square one again and Mac didn't feel like socializing right now. He wanted to stay in the office and stare at the walls so long until he finally got what it was that they were missing. He felt that if he could only solve this, he would finally get some kind of peace of mind. Deep inside, though, he knew he was fooling himself. There was only one thing that could bring him back his peace of mind. And right now she was lying in a hospital bed unconscious.

What he was doing here was simply trying to put his frustration and anger into actually doing something constructive instead of waiting and hoping. With a final shake of his head, he headed for the elevators trying to channel some positive energy for Danny and Lindsay's sake.

**XxXxXxX**

After a twenty minutes' ride, a quick visit at a deli and in a slightly better mood, Mac parked his Avalanche at the Messers' apartment building and got out nursing a bottle of red wine under his arm. He chanced a glance at the windows of the Messer apartment. He was about to go in as he spotted Danny with his side to the window holding Lucy up. The expression of joy and fulfilment on his face stroke a chord in Mac's heart. He remembered Danny asking him for advice about marrying Lindsay and starting a family with her. The words he said to him still rang clear in his memory. _You__ can choose to live in a place of fear or believe in the best version of yourself. _Maybe it was time he dealt with his own fears and insecurities and started to believe in those words himself?

At that moment Danny disappeared from view and Mac was brought back from his reverie. With a shake of his head, he stepped into the building. He went up the stairs and knocked, the sounds of laughter permeating through the door into the corridor. Then door opened and he was welcomed by a beaming Lindsay, who dragged him inside with a hug. He lightly hugged her back and tried a smile as he handed her the wine.

"Italian, nice," she said with excitement, looking at the bottle. "Will be perfect with the spaghetti. But you really shouldn't have, Mac," she added as she took his coat from him.

"No problem, Lindsay. Didn't want to come empty-handed," Mac answered with an embarrassed smile just as his and Lindsay's attention was turned to the other two Messers, who had just appeared in the doorway. Danny was still holding Lucy snugly ensconced in his arms.

"Hi, Mac," he said with a smile and then turned to his little girl. "Look who's here, Luce," he said happily. "Your god-daddy, uncle Mac," he continued to coo at the baby in his arms as he approached them.

While Mac was not the guy to even consider making any sorts of 'aww' exclamations, he found himself dangerously close to one when Danny came to stand just before him gently rocking the little girl in his arms. Lindsay gave her a kiss on one plump pinkish cheek.

"You settle down and I'll finish that spaghetti," she said carrying the wine off with her.

Danny looked up at Mac with a wink. "It's the first time she's doing spaghetti and it doesn't look good," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "I thought I'd have to call in the fire squad half an hour ago. So whatever you do, drink all that wine before you taste the spaghetti. To numb the senses."

Mac raised an eyebrow at him but his comment died on his lips as both his and Danny's attention was turned to the little woman present. She gurgled happily and reached out her tiny hands towards Mac.

"I think she wants you to hold her," Danny announced with a mix of surprise and excitement.

"Danny, I don't think that's such a good..." Mac tried to argue but all his protests fell on deaf ears as Danny simply put Lucy in his arms with a gleeful smirk on his lips.

Mac flashed him a small frown, which was instantly erased, however, as he looked at the little being he was now holding in his hands. Lucy let out another happy gurgle and Mac felt his mouth involuntarily turn up in a first genuine full smile in days. He carefully repositioned her in his arms and delicately caressed her cheek with the back of his index finger. Lucy caught it before he could move it away and held it in both her tiny hands, looking at it curiously. Then she suddenly switched her gaze and looked him straight in the eye. The very much sentient and serious look she gave him made his heart stop. It was as if she was looking at him with a sort of disappointment and expectation at the same time. As if she knew something he didn't. Then she released his finger and closed her eyes, her breathing slowing down. Mac continued to stare at her serene face, completely transfixed.

"Hey, what do you know," Danny said in a whisper as he peered at Lucy's face almost hidden in her blanket. "She's asleep," he looked at Mac with amazement and Mac returned his gaze, equally surprised. "We've been trying to put her to sleep for the last hour."

"I guess she just thinks I'm boring," Mac quipped, also toning down his voice so as not to wake Lucy.

Danny let out a small chuckle. "I really wish I could be this kind of boring, believe me! Come on, let's get her to bed," he led Mac towards Lucy's room.

With baby Messer safely deposited in her cradle and the baby alarm turned on, both of them headed towards the dining room, where Lindsay was setting the table.

"I think we won't need that new baby-sitter after all, Linds," Danny exclaimed happily in his wife's direction as they neared her. "Mac's finally found his true calling. Lucy fell asleep in his arms in an instant, it was like someone turned the lights off."

"That's quite a feat, Mac," Lindsay said eyeing him with a respectful stare. "You're looking to earn some extra money to that miserable detective salary?"

"Is this your way of suggesting you want a raise, Lindsay?" he answered with a raised eyebrow.

They shared a laugh and settled down to dinner. Spaghetti turned out to be much better than Danny said and Mac found enjoying himself for the first time in days.

When Lindsay went to the kitchen to prepare the dessert, Danny suggested they take a breath of fresh air on the balcony. He himself went to get them something to warm themselves up. As he stepped out onto the balcony with two mugs of hot tea, he saw Mac leaning on the barrister and looking out onto the city.

"Here you go, Mac," he handed him one of the mugs.

"Thanks," Mac accepted his drink with a small smile.

Danny came to stand beside him and they both looked out onto the panorama in companionable silence for a while. Mac was the first to break it.

"Thanks for inviting me, Danny. I had a great time."

"Thanks for coming, Mac," he said with a smile. "I honestly didn't think you would."

"Neither did I," Mac admitted with a small chuckle. "But you and Lindsay have some powerful persuasion skills I wasn't aware of."

"I'm small game compared to Linds," Danny smirked. "You should see her when it's whose turn it is to get up to Lucy at four in the morning."

Mac chuckled lightly. "You're really lucky, Danny," he said earnestly.

"Well, you've had a big hand in making this all come true, Mac. You and Stella both."

Mac looked at him in surprise.

"Don't look so surprised, Mac. We both know who we should be thanking for our happiness. I only wish there was something more we could do," he said wistfully.

"I know. This helplessness is killing me, too," Mac sighed finding it oddly comforting to be able to relay at least some of his frustration to another person. He actually felt good with sharing his emotions, something he never thought possible. "The investigation's at a dead end, Stella's still unconscious...," he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm only glad at least you two manage a normal, happy life."

"Mac," Danny began with a knowing glint in his eyes. "I'm the last man to give anyone life-related advice...," he interrupted as Mac gave him a skeptical glance.

"All right, all right, _any_ kind of advice," he corrected himself with a crooked grin. "But I'm still gonna say it. You told me yourself it was time to believe in myself and thanks to you I did. All I can do is return the favour, Mac," he looked him in the eye. "You have as much a chance at happiness as any of us, Mac, you just have to believe in it."

Danny was indeed the last man Mac would talk about this kind of things but as he listened to him, he found himself amazed by his maturity. When did that happen? When did Danny Messer start to give advice and pep-talks to Mac Taylor? As strange as that sounded, Mac found he wasn't in the least bit bothered by this apparent role reversal. Danny's words were the words of a caring and sympathetic friend. Besides, deep inside, Mac had come to the same conclusions. He gave Danny a wondering stare just as Lindsay peered her head through the balcony door.

"It's good to see you haven't frozen to death out here," she said innocently. "I hate a crime scene before dessert."

"Dessert's on?" Danny exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with child-like eagerness.

Lindsay and Mac exchanged amused glances.

"You see what I have to put up with?" she said with mock exasperation. "Not one but two kids at home."

"Then you get the feeling of what it's like to be his boss at the lab," Mac countered flashing Danny a sideways look.

Danny huffed. "All right, all right, you two, that's it. I'm standing right here. You can compare your notes on bringing up Danny Messer later, now I'm really starting to get cold."

"Cold or cold feet that we'll gang up on you?"

"Very funny, Montana," Danny flashed her an irritated look and went inside.

Lindsay couldn't help herself anymore and she burst out with laughter. Mac found himself joining her.

**XxXxXxX**

Danny continued to sulk through the dessert but then was back to his attention-loving self as they sat down on the couch for a late coffee. Mac asked about a baseball bat hanging in a case on the wall, which instantly made Danny get into the story of his times at the baseball league. Time passed by only too quickly and soon it was time for Mac to take his leave as Lucy was beginning to stir and threatening to wreak havoc on the peaceful evening. Not wanting to get in the way, Mac said his goodbyes although Danny and Lindsay both insisted he stay longer.

After leaving, he took a while to just seat back in his Avalanche and stare into the space before him. The cheerful atmosphere and the sight of the happy family that Danny and Lindsay had created made his heart a bit lighter. He found it exhilarating to be a part of it, if even for a couple of hours. He even managed to get his mind off the burden of Stella's precarious state weighing him down so heavily. Yet not for one minute had she left his mind throughout the whole evening. As he looked at Lucy, at Danny and Lindsay and out onto New York on the balcony. In all these moments he kept coming back to her in his thoughts wishing she was there with him, sharing in the happiness, having a good time and laughing. He missed the sound of her laugh so much.

_As the last sounds of Will Dailey's __final song for the evening died down, Mac slowly put his guitar down and looked in the direction of his partner and best friend who persistently sat at a nearby table through the whole evening. The one constant in his life. The one who was always there to pick up the pieces. His rock. _

"_How did you know where to find me?" __he asked amazed as he came down the stage with his guitar in his hand._

"_Mac, we've been partners for more than a decade. I know all your haunts. There's nowhere you can hide from me, mister__. I'll always find you."_

"_That's actually more comforting that scary," he said settling on a stool opposite her and leaning his guitar's neck against the edge of the table. Even though he was in no mood, he had to smile as he looked at her. She looked positively beautiful with the lively sparks lurking in her chartreuse eyes and that megawatt smile directed at him._

"_An armed policewoman always knowing your whereabouts?" she shivered with a mock expression of horror on her face. "Oh, you'd better believe it's scary," she flashed him a cheeky grin. He smiled weakly in return but it didn't reach his eyes, which didn't escape her. "I've ordered you a beer," she shoved a glass filled with the golden foamy liquid in his direction._

"_Stell, __have you advanced to a mind-reader?" he asked in amazement._

"_Only when it comes to you," she smiled.__ Then her expression turned serious. "So, I was in your office...and found a letter from the UK lying on the floor near your desk," she said with a concerned expression._

_He locked his eyes with hers and in a moment of silent understanding each knew what the other was thinking._

"_You're going to be okay, Mac," she said with an earnest expression on her face and put a reassuring hand over his. _

_He looked up at her with a small frown._

"_I guess I knew it was coming," he sighed. "Peyton never really felt at home here. And I could never feel at home in London."_

"_I'm really sorry, Mac__," she said sympathetically. "I know you were close..."_

"_Not close enough,"__ he cut her off curtly avoiding her gaze. _

"_Wanna get drunk?"__ she nudged him playfully in the side and he had to chuckle. She always knew just the right thing to do and say to him. It never failed to amaze him how well she knew him. And how much she cared. What did he do to deserve her in his life?_

"_Don't we both have the morning shift tomorrow?"__ he asked with a half-smile._

"_Oh, don't worry, I have an in__ with the boss," she deadpanned._

"_Do you?" he raised his eyebrows. "Good to know."_

"_I say we drink to him," she said __with mock solemnity and raised her glass."To the best of friends, kindest of men and most handsome of detectives," she winked at him and he felt himself blush a little. _

"_Who wouldn't be where he is and who he is without his best friend," he offered __with a small smile and lightly clinked his glass with hers._

"_You mean a guitarist drowning his sorrows in alcohol at a bar with some random lady?" she teased after they put down their glasses._

"_Yeah, exactly what I meant," he said with a raised eyebrow, then added in a serious tone. "You could never be random, Stell."_

"_Good answer," she quipped and was rewarded with another smile from him._

_They spent another hour talking and laughing and when they were readying themselves to leave, Mac found he __didn't lose even one thought on Peyton the whole evening. And he was feeling much lighter now, as if a heavy load had been taken away from his shoulders. As he accompanied Stella to her cab, he couldn't help but feel grateful for knowing him so well. When he had read the letter from Peyton, he wanted to shut himself out from everything and everybody and simply lose himself in his music. Now he knew what a mistake that would have been. Stella had proven to him once again that he would never be able to shut her out. He found he didn't want to. As she hugged him and gave him a lingering goodbye kiss on the cheek, he knew everything would be ok. And it was all Stella's fault, he thought wryly._

He wished he could be this sure of that now as he was then. But right now he didn't have Stella to pick him up and push him in the right direction. It was his time to do that for her.

He started the engine, Danny's words reverberating in his mind. Maybe the time had really come to let someone in to the still remaining pieces of his heart? To finally let _her_ in?

**XxXxXxX**

Everything changed within one second. A harmless ex-boyfriend who wouldn't take no for an answer became a dangerous psychopath. The rest was a flash of sound and movement.

The phone cord biting into her wrists and ankles painfully as he bound her all the time telling her accusingly that she didn't return his calls and ignored him. That she didn't love him. His hand colliding with her face with bone-crashing strength. Waking up to the dreadful realisation that she had become a prisoner in her own home. The feel of her own blood trickling down her fingers as she tried to get herself free. Adrenaline fuelling her movements as she knocked him down and ran for her piece.

All these feelings and memories cumulated in one moment of time when she stood there before him looking down the barrel of her own gun. She let out an angry cry of desperation trying to get hold of the Glock. But this time he pushed her away and in a calm practiced manner took off the safety and pulled the trigger.

She didn't feel anything. No bullet in her chest, no fall or the dreadful feeling of losing consciousness. Everything became dark and she was sucked into the black vortex again. Fear enveloped her in a suffocating cocoon dragging her further down and squeezing her breath out of her. As she strived for the merest modicum of safety and assurance in the oblivion that was threatening to swallow her whole being, she knew her strength was waning with every second. There was one thing that kept her fighting and atop the dark surface, though. One tiny sliver of hope that shone through the darkness. One escape. Her sweetest escape.

A word formed in her mind, one syllable she had and wanted to hold on to.

"Mac!"

**XxXxXxX**

The hospital floor was usually quiet and empty at that time of the evening but tonight Mac found the silence oddly ominous. There wasn't a soul around. He subconsciously quickened his pace, a frown building on his face. When he got to Stella's room, he saw a male nurse at her bed. He was holding a syringe and about to administer the substance in it to Stella through her IV. Mac had never seen this nurse before.

"Excuse me...," Mac began warily and the man's head snapped up. Mac had seen those eyes before. His hand went for his gun but the man was at his side in a flash, pushing him away and getting out to the corridor. Mac flashed a glance towards Stella's monitors to see if she was fine, then turned on the alarm at her bed to alert the staff and ran after the man.

"NYPD! Freeze!" he shouted running after his would be attacker down the emergency stairs.

The fire alarm turned on automatically but the man didn't take any heed of Mac or the wailing fire siren. He was soon outside but Mac was hot on his heels, determined not to let him get away this time. They ran into an abandoned alley littered with crates and other rubbish. There was a chain-link fence before the man and Mac used the fact that he had to slow down before it to aim a shot at him.

Hit, the man stumbled but managed to get over the fence. Mac started after him with double speed knowing he had the upper hand now. He was over the fence in no time, the man only a couple of feet ahead of him. Then he stumbled over a garbage can and Mac saw his chance. He lunged for him, bringing them both to the ground. The man tried to struggle but Mac had him in an iron grip. He pressed him to the ground with his forearm.

"No one escapes me twice," he growled into his ear as he brusquely put handcuffs on the man's hands.

* * *

**A/N: I don't know about you, but I always felt that scene at the bar was such a terrific SMacked**** moment, only it ended far too early!! **

**Do click the green button before leaving and tell me what you thought**** about the scene and this whole chap – I'm eagerly waiting for your opinions!**


	6. It's Darkest Before The Dawn

**While You Were Sleeping**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

**As always, I hope you'll enjoy this:-)**

* * *

**Chapter 6**** – It's Always Darkest Before The Dawn**

"Mac!"

He knew the concerned voice calling after him belonged to Flack but he didn't heed it. Having called the arrest in, Mac waited for Don and the uniforms to show up. It had been one of the longer fifteen minutes he had to endure in his life, the only thing stopping him from beating the man into a pulp his sheer force of will. When Flack did finally arrive, Mac had gladly handed his suspect over and started almost at a run back towards the emergency exit.

He heard Flack's steps behind him on the stairs but continued his ascent nonetheless, taking three steps at a time. Still, every landing seemed to stretch on forever as he climbed higher and higher up the metal staircase. Try as he may to throttle back his growing fears that something had happened to Stella while he had chased after the attacker, he felt helpless against the vortex of terrifying images and sensations his mind kept producing.

He had left Stella in that hospital room alone, unable to fend for herself and in a possibly precarious medical state because in that one moment his instincts as a cop combined with his desperation verging on obsession had won over. If anything had happened to her while he was off chasing after some thug...He heard the waterfall noise of blood in his ears at the very thought and by the time he finally approached Stella's room, his heart was threatening to jump out of his chest. He went over the threshold and stopped mid-step.

There was a flurry of movement in the room with Stella's supervising doctor Stan Reyes and two nurses hovering over her immobile body. The numerous medical instruments buzzed and beeped ominously reminding him in how serious a condition Stella really was. He felt his throat tighten to the accompaniment of his still pounding heart.

Then Flack caught up with him and the reassuring touch of his hand on Mac's shoulder gave him a certain small comfort. They both stood in the door watching in silence as the medical personnel moved around Stella. In less than a couple of minutes it was over and the nurses left. Doctor Reyes approached them.

"Is she...?" Mac didn't manage to finish the sentence.

"Miss Bonasera's state is stable," he said reassuringly and Mac heard Flack loudly exhale beside him. "Thankfully the intruder didn't have enough time to inject her with whatever is in this syringe," he handed Mac the medical instrument, already placed in a small bag.

"Thank you," Mac said automatically, feeling suddenly drained and weak as his anxious anticipation suddenly left him. He didn't realise he had also been holding his own breath up until now. He slowly breathed out.

"And how is she, you know, as in when she's going to wake up?" Flack asked.

"I'm afraid there is no easy answer here, detective. Her body is healing fast – she should come out of it by now."

"Then why hasn't she?" Don persisted.

"Sometimes, even though the body is ready, the mind isn't. And sometimes the mind simply lets go. With patients in such a condition as miss Bonasera's it's simply impossible to say which way this will go," the doctor looked regretfully from Flack to Mac.

"But she looks so well," Flack said incredulously looking over to Stella. "Hell, she's almost smiling!"

Mac stood there listening to the conversation though not really hearing any of it. He had already had this conversation with doctor Reyes on several occasions and the answers were still the same. Just like the one Flack was about to hear.

"We don't know where her mind is wandering," the doctor answered sympathetically. "I'm sorry but there's nothing more I can do."

The finality those words held made Flack visibly squirm. Mac ran a hand over his tired eyes, his gaze resting on Stella's face. The doctor nodded his head and made to leave, however he turned towards them again.

"There's not much I can do for miss Bonasera right now but there is something I can do for you, detectives," he said looking at them both and then turning his gaze solely to Mac. "You know, you coming to her and talking does help," Mac turned his stare towards him and Reyes gave him an encouraging smile. "Her vitals are always best when you come by. She knows you're here, detective. That's a good sign. So don't give up. Not just yet. Hope is a very powerful medicine."

Mac gave him an almost imperceptible nod and eased himself down into the nearest chair. As the doctor left, Flack came to stand before him.

"So that's where you disappear to," Don remarked, not a hint of amusement in his voice. Ever since the shooting, Mac would spend his entire time at the lab with the exception of times when he was suddenly gone for an hour or two, completely unreachable, his cell off. Don had his suspicions but now he knew for sure. He wasn't surprised.

Mac looked up at him with a tight-lipped expression but said nothing. There was a serious glint in Flack's eyes as he returned Mac's gaze.

"Mac, I know this is hard on you…"

"It's hard on all of us," Mac cut him off not wanting to dwell on the desperation and frustration he was feeling.

"But you most of all," Flack said upon which Mac furrowed his eyebrows. "Mac, I've just lost Jess a couple of days ago. I know how a man grieving a woman he loves looks and feels like."

Mac's head snapped up. Don didn't offer his words as any kind of sudden revelation. The tone of his voice measured and calm, he spoke as if he was simply stating a most obvious fact. That was what hit Mac the most. The inevitability his voice held.

"I've learned the very hard way that time is never on our side. I've already lost my chance but you still may have one," Don continued, his voice overflowing with emotion but steady as he looked at Mac. "So it's time you took your head out of your ass and finally admitted it. To yourself. And to her. Because when she wakes up, she's sure as hell going to need you. Not as a boss, not as a partner, not even as a friend. That's not enough. She deserves better and more from you, Mac."

Flack's acumen and sincerity caught Mac off guard. He had always felt Flack was way better equipped than he himself would ever be when it came to empathy and reading or handling emotions. That was why he left Stella under his custody when she had been attacked by Frankie. He had removed himself and allowed Don to be the shoulder to cry on because he knew he wouldn't be able to offer Stella the kind of comfort and support she needed. He didn't have it in him back then, the shards of his heart still hopelessly shattered behind the protective barriers he had raised after Claire's death. Much as he wanted to be there for her emotionally then, he hadn't been able to. But that was three years ago. In that time he had been slowly piecing what was left of him back together and now he understood that even though he didn't realize it then, it was all for Stella. So that he could be whole once again for her because she deserved no less from him. So that one day he would finally be able to look her in the eye and tell her that while Claire would always be a part of him, there was only one person in his heart.

Don's words reverberated painfully through his mind. _Time is never on our side_. It wasn't. Did it really have to come to this for him to finally realize what Danny and Lindsay, Don, all his friends had seen and known so long?

"Mac?" Don's much gentler voice brought him back to reality. The reality of the hospital room, nurses and doctors hurrying past, the nauseating smell of medicines in the air and above all, Stella hanging in an in-between between life and death where he couldn't reach her and where it didn't matter what he felt. "I'm sorry if I stepped out of line. It's really not my business…"

As Mac looked at Don's embarrassed expression, he had to fight the urge to smile. He could see that as his words had sunk in, Flack was really concerned if he hadn't indeed stepped out of bounds or offended Mac. While Mac appreciated Don's sincerity and straightforwardness, he couldn't repay him with the same. Just as he wasn't the most skilled person when it came to eliciting heart-felt confessions from others, he was even less skilled at talking about his own feelings. So he simply stood up and gave him a light pat on the shoulder.

"You're a good friend, Don Flack," he said earnestly. "And Stella _does_ deserve better. That's why we're going to nail the guy who did this to her."

Flack nodded with a half-smile and although Mac could see he wasn't entirely satisfied with his answer, he kept it to himself and they both left. Mac gave Stella one last look over his shoulder. _You only deserve the best_.

**XxXxXxX**

"Welcome to New York."

"Spare me the false smiles and welcomes," came the woman's snappy reply and the man greeting her squirmed nervously under her glare. "I've heard what you've been up to and all I can say is that you and your bosses are a band of complete morons!"

"I beg your pardon but…"

"You may beg all you want," he was brusquely cut off mid-sentence. "Bring the car. I want to speak to your bosses right now."

**XxXxXxX**

The bagged syringe landed on the table with a dull thud. The dim morning light streaming in despondently through the only window in the interrogation room created a halo around it on the smooth steel surface of the table top, putting the key piece of evidence in a bizarre limelight.

Mac looked at the man before him wanting nothing more than to throttle him with his bare hands. He felt Don's attentive stare on his back and the uniform that had been additionally assigned was staring down at him from the opposite corner of the room. Flack wanted Mac to watch the interrogation from the outside through the two-way mirror but Mac insisted on going in. And when Mac was in his 'insistent' mode, there was no stopping him.

"Pavulon," he willed himself to say calmly now. "Commonly used as a component in lethal injection and in euthanasia."

Even now, speaking about the deadly substance made him cringe inwardly. To think that one drop of it in Stella's bloodstream would have paralysed all her muscles and caused her breathing to stop within seconds was almost too much to take.

"Yeah, I thought that would be a nice touch, her already being a vegetable. Ironic and all," came the snarky reply.

Mac clenched his fists so hard that later he would find thin red crescents where his nails had dug into the delicate flesh of his palms.

Flack saw how white Mac's face had become and how his features had hardened into a mask of barely contained fury. Although he felt a rage equal to Mac's, he knew this was precisely the thug's aim. And why he didn't want Mac in here in the first place.

The man before them, Graham Steele, had a rap sheet longer than he was tall. Reading through it was like revising the criminal code's list of punishable acts. Attempted murder, kidnapping, assault, drug trafficking – you name it, he'd done it all. He had been in and out of prison for the best part of his adult life but for the last couple of years had been lying suspiciously low, which for a man of his sort meant that he had managed to get himself into a bigger organization. One which kept its dealings and their men under the police radar.

Flack got the feeling that Steele's cocky and careless behaviour after his capture and now had lots to do with his apparent new affiliations and the fact that he knew his bosses would protect him. Even if that was the case, they still could make this a tad more difficult for them and they sure were able to make Steele's life a living hell if only for the time being. But their prerogative was not to allow him get under their skins. Even now, he was probing them, checking how much they would take. And if they did lose their calm, he could walk on a technicality.

All these thoughts flashing through his mind in a matter of seconds, Flack quickly stepped up to focus Steele's attention on himself rather than on Mac, who looked like he might explode any moment.

"You're sure going to need that sparkling sense of irony where you're going," he said.

"I ain't going nowhere," Steele scoffed.

"This is where you're wrong, Mr. Steele," Mac said, his temper once again in check and his focus on the one thing that was completely objective and devoid of all emotion – evidence. "Not only were you caught in flagrante while attempting a murder on a police officer but your DNA was found on the body of Jane Malley consequently proving you are her killer. Also, I can see you've hurt your arm," Mac indicated the man's right hand which was bandaged. "From where the chandelier I shot down two days ago fell on you when you were trying to shoot me."

Steele levelled his gaze at Mac. There was a glint of challenge in his eyes as he met Mac's basilisk stare. They eyed each other for a moment, then a venomous smile spread over the thug's face.

He shrugged, "I don't know no Jane."

"The evidence tells us another story. We'll see who the judge will listen to."

"You can take all your fancy DNA toys, all your evidence and all your judges and shove it up your..."

"Whoa, there, buddy," Flack cut him off standing in from of him before Mac could react. "You may think that your pals have your back covered but believe me, when we're done with you, you won't _have_ a back to cover. So you'd better start behaving."

"I don't think so. You and Mad Mac here may threaten me all you want but you won't get anything from me. I'm just a pawn and know nothing. But there are people that want you and Bonasera dead real bad," he threw at Mac with satisfaction.

Mac felt his heart stop. Very slowly, he stood up and looked at the man. He was using all his willpower not to come up to him and beat his confession out of him.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me, _detective_," he spat. "You can put me away all you want but there will be others. There are far more powerful people out there on the hunt for you and your lady friend. The hospital and the shooting were just tests. Still, Bonasera got what she deserved."

The taunting smile that appeared on his lips proved too much. In one flurry of motion, Mac was at his side dragging him up from his chair by his shirt and pinning him up against the wall with his arm under the man's chin.

Flack was beside him motioning for the uniform present to remain where he was.

"Mac...," Don said warningly but Mac took no heed of him, his focus solely on Steele.

"You listen to me," he said through clenched teeth as the man desperately struggled for air, fear visible in his eyes for the first time since they had brought him in. "Her name shouldn't even come out of your filthy mouth, you scum. I will not simply put you away. For what you did, you will get the chair," he let him go with utter disgust and the man tumbled to the floor. "As for your bosses, let them come. I will be waiting," and with that he moved aside from him.

The man grunted massaging his throat, trying to scramble to his feet but falling to the ground again.

"Get him out of my sight," Mac spat, anger still burning in his eyes.

The uniform helped Steele to his feet and led him out accompanied by Mac's unwavering glare. Mac followed them trying not to catch Flack's stare as he left. A second time this day, though, the younger detective caught up with him.

"Mac..."

"What is it, Don?" he asked irritated, stopping in the corridor to flash Don a discouraging look. He didn't like to lose control like he just had and it left him embarrassed and even angrier. This time at himself that he let Steele get under his skin. "I'm not exactly in the mood to..."

"Want me to assign police protection for you?" Flack surprised him with his concerned question. He looked at the younger man with amazement. He was expecting at least an admonishing 'I told you so'.

"Stella already has an officer in the hospital," Don continued. "But I can assign another. And for you..."

"Thanks, Don," Mac said with a frown. "Setting up another officer for Stella is a good idea, but me? No way, Don. I won't be intimidated by some petty thug."

"Him? I know. But this really bears the signs of something bigger, Mac. The attempt at Stella's life in the hospital, now it turns out the shooting was commissioned..."

"I know, Don," he sighed. "And I intend to get to the bottom of this. But right now...I've got to be somewhere."

"At the hospital? To give Stella her update?" Flack smiled crookedly and Mac raised his eyebrows.

"Then say hi from me," Don added earnestly. "And tell her to wake up already. She's got us on hold long enough," his voice bore his usual ironic tone but Mac could swear his eyes were glistening somewhat.

The constant fear for Stella's life was taking its toll not only on him but on the whole team. And she was sorely missed. Throughout this ordeal Mac could see just how much Stella meant not only to him but to the whole team. She had a true family here, something she had been devoid of as a child. Mac only wished she could see it all for herself.

"Will do," he only said exchanging meaningful looks with Don and was about to take his leave when the sound of a gunshot echoed in the corridor. It came from the precinct's main hall. Where Graham had just been led off to. They looked at each other and took their guns out in unison heading for the hall.

**XxXxXxX**

She stayed after class as she always did when professor Papakota had his classes with them. They both relished those quiet moments when he would come to sit before her on one of the benches and spin his wondrous tales about the beautiful land of Greece, the homeland she never knew. She avidly drank in every word, marvelling at her guardian's wisdom and bathing in the affection he always showered her with. Affection which she so sorely missed lying in her lonely bed at St. Basel's dormitory, pining for the mother and father she never knew...

The sun was shining brilliantly on the day of her graduation from the NYPD Police Academy reflecting her excitement and elation. She was so proud to wear her full dress garb as a full-fledged police officer for the first time. And he was there, pride shining through his eyes as he hugged her tightly and handed her his graduation gift. She would cherish _The Medusa_ for the years to come and take it to wherever the paths of her life led her...

His blood wet on her fingers, the scratch of his voice as soft as a whisper when he told her he loved her mother. And then the last strands of life leaked out of him with the blood that stained her hands. She didn't know what hurt more – his betrayal, the cruel disillusionment with her childhood mentor or the loss of a man she had treated as a father. If it hadn't been for the tender touch and warm arms heaving her up from the ground and hiding her in their embrace, she would have fallen apart there and then...

**XxXxXxX**

The sight that met Mac's and Don's eyes as they ran into the precinct's main hall was of Steele standing rooted to the spot with arms raised above his head, his face white, and another young man standing a feet away from him with a gun aimed at his forehead. The witnesses and suspects who happened to be at the precinct at the time were standing or sitting, some with their hands raised, others with fear and disbelief in their eyes. Several persons were cowering behind desks and doors. There was the occasional whimper of horror and the warnings of the officers present directed at the shooter. They were all holding him at gunpoint but he didn't take any heed of it.

"Steele, you killed her, you bastard!"

"That's Jane's brother, James," Flack informed Mac in a whisper as they approached him from behind. Mac nodded his head hoping this was only a deranged innocent boy not able to deal with his grief or this might turn ugly. _It might turn ugly anyhow_, he thought as he looked at the desperation etched in the boy's expression.

He motioned for Flack to move in the opposite direction from him and he himself turned to James.

"James, I'm detective Taylor," he said slowly and the boy turned slightly towards him. He was still holding Steele at gunpoint, though. "I'm investigating your sister's murder and we've got everything we need to put her killer behind bars. You don't have to do this."

"They'll free him!" came the agonized reply.

"No one will free him. He won't go unpunished, I promise you. Just put the gun down. This isn't the way Jane would have wanted you to end up. She wouldn't want you to become a killer."

James looked at him, tears streaming down his face. He let out a desperate cry.

"It's too late for that. But you're right. She wouldn't want me to go to jail. Not for him. Not for anyone," and he put the gun to his own temple.

A gasp of horror rippled through their terrified audience. Mac raised his hand. "James, listen to me. No one has to die. Don't do this."

"You don't understand. This is all my fault. She was there for me that evening."

Mac furrowed his eyebrows. "Why was she there for you?"

"Yeah, James, tell the detective why," said Steele teasingly from the side.

James turned towards him and aimed the gun back at his head. "You shut up!"

Mac just needed one glance at Flack to know they were thinking the same thing. Using James' temporary distraction, they both lunged for him from opposite sides, Mac aiming a disabling blow to his solar plexus and Don smashing the pistol out of his hand.

As they had him pinned to the ground, his hands cuffed behind him, Flack looked up at Mac.

"Talk about a busy morning," he said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

**XxXxXxX**

"They what?!" came the angry scream.

The pigeons inhabiting the rafters of the derelict warehouse on the outskirts of New York rose in an anxious flight at the violent sound. None of the men present took any heed of the movement, all of them focused on the man standing before them.

"I'm sorry, sir. They caught Steele before we got to him."

"You idiot! I should shoot you here on the spot!"

"He doesn't know a thing. And we'll get to him in jail. As well as the kid."

"That better be true," said another male voice. "We don't want any loose ends in this one, do you understand?"

"Yes."

There was a concerned silence.

"We should have someone in," a female voice suddenly spoke up and all the man present turned towards the only woman in their midst. The steel behind her voice commanded absolute obedience."I think..."

"As in 'have someone in the NYPD Crime Lab'?" one of the men cut in with a scoff. "Yeah, why didn't we think of that?" he asked sarcastically. "Maybe because it's freakin' _impossible_!"

There was a flurry of movement and the man landed on the floor, his legs cut out from under him and the high heel of a stiletto digging painfully into his neck.

"No one interrupts me," came the pleasant voice from somewhere above him. The man didn't fail to detect the steel underneath it, though. He gulped and stopped struggling. She stood over him a moment longer digging the heel slowly and purposefully further down. Then she abruptly let him loose with a disdainful look and turned to the other men present. "And this is _precisely_ what you should have thought of in the first place," she enunciated with anger. "That way all the trouble with the shooting, the comatose Bonasera and now dealing with 'loose ends' could have been prevented and we would have known Taylor's exact movements. We wouldn't even be having this conversation right now but enjoying Martinis at a celebratory party."

The men looked at one another in silent agreement. Finally one ventured to speak.

"Do you...have someone specific in mind to do this?"

A predatory smile appeared on her face. "I know just the right person."

**XxXxXxX**

Coming to the hospital late in the evening that day, Mac felt like he had ran the New York marathon. The case had taken one last unexpected turn as James Malley confessed that he was in on the shooting with Steele. He had apparently gotten into some bad company, ran into huge debts and Steele had offered him a way to pay back by helping with the shooting. Jane had overheard her brother's conversation with Steele when they were sealing the deal. Impulsive as she was, she walked in on the two of them and told James what she thought about Steele and the whole plan. James begged her not to do anything about it but that day she had gone to the bar to try and stop him anyway. James didn't see her that night, tough, too terrified by what he was complicit in. Steele did. He had left the car with James and followed Jane, setting a trap in the bar's back alley.

All the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place but Mac didn't feel any better. The answers in this case were as troubling as the questions. A young girl who had her whole life before her had died because of her love for her brother, a young man had wasted his life because of a few stupid decisions and an NYPD CSI found himself to have impossible feelings for his best friend who could never wake up again and even if she did, would probably never reciprocate them.

He eased himself into his usual chair next to Stella's bed, his energy all but spent. He allowed himself a deep sigh and ran a hand over his face before he looked at Stella.

"We got them," he said to her with a hint of a smile. "You'd be proud of the team. They did one hell of a job with this one. Really worked their asses off."

He looked at her immobile expression and put a hand to the side of her face.

"We did our part, Stella. Now it's time for you to do yours and wake up," he urged. "You should have seen Don today. He's really worried about you. They all are. _I_ am, Stella. I constantly catch myself waiting for you to barge into my office and bring me to the carpet for this or that. Frankly, I miss it, you know," he gave her a half-smile. "I miss our bouncing things off each other, our unwinding together, even our arguments, Stella."

He took a ragged breath fighting off the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him once again.

"Stell, I know you can hear me. It's not your time yet," he urged. "We need you here. Don't you dare let go."

Like all the days and nights before, Stella remained asleep and impervious to his words, her expression a static and serene mask. He still remembered the one and only time before that he was privileged to see her in her sleep and remembered how entranced he was by her then. In hindsight, it was then that he realised for the first time the full extent of what she meant to him.

_He couldn't take a clear shot, Stella's attacker already half-way round the corner__ of the alley. He looked in frustration at Stella, who was standing right beside him on the balcony peering into the dark Thessaloniki night._

"_You all right?" he asked in concern as they went inside._

"_I'm fine, Mac__."_

"_Did you see his face?"_

"_No, it was too dark. __I was going to sleep so I had the lights turned down," she said in frustration and sat on the edge of her bed, drawing her hands over her face. She tried to plaster a brave face on but Mac could see she was shaken. _

_This whole case __was turning the only semblance of family she had ever had into a caricature. The only father figure she had ever known and looked up to her entire life was turning out to be a smuggler, thief and possibly a killer. Mac didn't even want to imagine what that must feel like. It was taking a big toll on her even though she would never admit it. But he knew her. He saw the frustrated set of her lips and the haunted look her eyes held when she thought he wasn't looking. But he was. His whole attention ever since he set foot on Greek soil was focused on her and her alone. _

"_Though to be honest," he began with a smirk, hoping to elicit a smile from her. "I should be more worried about that poor bastard who had the nerve to __try to attack you."_

_His attempts were rewarded when__ her features finally lighted up. "Well, if you hadn't come in and interrupted me, I would have given him a taste of Stella Bonasera all right," she flashed him a cheeky grin._

"_Sorry I got in the way," he smirked. "I'll just stand and watch next time, I promise."_

"_While I do all the dirty work?"_

"_Well, I am your boss. That's what bosses do, right?"_

"_I'll remind you t__hat the next time you're sulking about going to some city hall meeting or doing a press conference, _boss_." _

"_I don't sulk," he said with indignation._

"_Yes, you do. And you're focusing on the wrong part of what I've just said."_

"_I really have no idea what you're talking about," he said trying to keep a straight face. "I love meetings at the city hall with all the inflated city brass and press conferences with all the spotlight and attention on me." _

"_Yeah, Mac Taylor, __attention whore," she quipped with a gleeful smirk. "Danny would feel really threatened if he knew."_

"_Speaking of Danny," Mac was suddenly reminded why he had come to her room in the first place. "He's just called me about __the coffee grounds. You were right. It wasn't professor P. But he has a brother, right?"_

_Stella furrowed her eyebrows. "Yeah, Tasso. __I was at his place just this morning and he claimed to know nothing about the professor's whereabouts."_

"_H__e was lying. He was with him in New York two days ago. I think this is the time to call the Greek police department."_

_With that Mac took his phone out of his pocket and called detective Temes. After a short conversation, he turned back to Stella._

"_Temes will come for us first thing in the morning__ and we'll go to Tasso's with him and his gendarmerie," he informed her. She gave him a small absent-minded nod and looked out the window. He took this as his cue to leave. "Ok, so I'll see you in the morning," he headed for the door. _

"_Mac?" she stopped him.__ There was a vulnerability in her voice that made him stop in his tracks and turn around. "Stay? I don't think I want to be alone right now."_

"_Stella…" he said but as he looked at her, his resolve melted. This tough, strong-willed__, brave woman – his partner and best friend who was always calm and collected and in charge of every situation – was asking for his help and support, which she never did. He knew how much it had cost her to admit she needed him here. She was showing him a more vulnerable side and he was honoured she chose him. _

"_Ok," he simply said and watched __as the haunted look in her face turned to relieved one, no more words needing to be said between them. _

_S__he sat on her bed and covered herself with a blanket. He moved in the direction of the armchair standing in the corner of the room. It wouldn't be the most comfortable night of his life but at least he would have a clear view of the door and the balcony if anyone tried to get in once again. Anyway, he was used to sleeping like that._

"_Oh, come on, Mac, we can share the bed," she saw his__ skeptical look and gave him a cheeky grin. "I promise I'll be good."_

_He __blushed a little. "It's no problem, Stella. I'm fine with the armchair." _

_She rolled her eyes, __"Mac, I already know you're a gentleman. Now you can drop it and come here already. You need a good night's sleep just as much as I do and that armchair won't do," she said commandingly. "Besides, I don't want to have you complaining all day tomorrow about a crick in your neck." _

"_I don't have a chance with you, do I?"_

"_You do have a chance," she countered. "But __you saw me tackle that guy, right? You want to be next?"_

_With__ a shake of his head, he sat on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes. He gingerly lay down on top of the cover she was wrapped in. She snuggled in closer to him pressing her back against his chest. He tentatively put an arm around her and she put one of her hands on top of his._

"_Thank you," she whispered__ into the darkness. _

_H__e smiled against her hair, "You'll never have to thank for this, Stella."_

_She gave his hand a small squeeze and soon he could hear her soft snoring__. He lay watching her silently until Morpheus didn't come for him, too._

As he looked at her now, he still had a vivid memory of what it was like to hold her in his arms and he wanted nothing more than to have that feeling back. Realising he might never get it back was like a bucket of cold water over his head. He stood up.

"It's not like you to give up without a fight," he whispered. "So fight," he said with all the strength he could muster and squeezed her hand.

With that, he reluctantly pulled away and headed for the exit.

**XxXxXxX**

The next three weeks were a blur to Mac. A string of new cases, interrogations and court visits left him cold and indifferent. The one thing that was able to bring any trace of emotion into his numb mind these days were thoughts of Stella. They hurt but at least they made him feel something.

In the first days after closing the shooting case when he was suddenly devoid of the one task that demanded all his attention and didn't allow him to dwell too much on anything else, he was restless and frustrated. He found himself wandering towards Stella's office on several occasions. He wasn't even thinking about it, his feet instinctively made their way towards her working space. He would simply walk reviewing a file or some research results as he usually did only to suddenly find himself before the glass door to Stella's office. He would frown and walk away banishing all painful thoughts that immediately sprung to his mind but it haunted him later during the night hours. Even his subconscious was telling him where he belonged.

He didn't sleep well as it were but now there was no chance in hell of him sleeping more than an hour or two at most, be it night or day. So he simply stayed in the office for the night reasoning there was no use going to his empty apartment only to stay alone with his thoughts. Here he had a million distracters that made it almost physically impossible for him to dwell on Stella any more than he had to. It hurt too much.

He didn't know that this particular evening, as he sat at his desk surrounded by piles of folders as usual, it would all come to an end.

**XxXxXxX**

There were no more memories to be relived and no more past nightmares to be revisited. Stella felt this was all coming to an end, be it happy or sad. She stopped caring anymore. She just wanted this torture to be finally over.

The sand under her feet felt gravelly and soft. She just stood there at the edge of the sea relishing the exhilarating feeling of salty breeze stroking her face and cool water washing over her feet. She bent down to skim over the water with her hand. A stray pinkish shell found its way into her hand as the waves subsided and she looked at it ruminatively. Then a new wave came and whisked the small mollusc from her hand back into the depths of the blue-grey element sprawling away into the horizon as far as the eye could see. Oh, how tempting it was to follow the shell and allow herself to be swallowed by the waves. She made a tentative step further into the water. She would finally be free, unburdened. The urge for escape became stronger as the sea seemed to call out to her. Would they notice? Would they care?

The temptation taunted her, tugging at chords of hesitation and disillusionment in her soul. Her childhood, Frankie, the professor, her mother…her life was a string of personal failures. The water was waist-high now. The call became stronger as she felt her resolve grow weaker. What was the use in struggling in a life devoid of any deeper connection and meaning? She was no one to nobody. She never had parents, a husband, a child. She was alone. She belonged to no one. In here there was at least no one and nothing to remind her of that. She was standing up to her chest in the vicious surf now, the tide and undertow pulling her further in. She felt rather than heard a whisper in her ear, another voice to accompany the one coming from the sea.

_This is not your choice, there is more to this if you hold on_. _You are not your own_.

She hesitated. Wasn't she? She shivered at the realization. The water reached her chin.

_With him._

Just as she begun to turn around with that sudden realization sobering her up, another wave washed over her covering her completely and obstructing her view. She felt herself being swept off her feet and dragged further into the black depths of the sea, her strength sagging. She tried to swim but the currents drew her further in.

_Am I stronger than this? _

She was becoming colder and dizzier from lack of air. But the realization kept her lucid.

_I won't let go._

She kicked with her feet trying to get to the surface but the currents continued to draw her under.

**XxXxXxX**

The time after midnight was usually a very quiet time at the lab. Mac liked those late hours with only the occasional janitor or lab tech strolling the corridors and his office illuminated from the outside by the night lights of Broadway.

As always at this time, his thoughts strayed towards Mercy Hospital's one particular sick-bed and with each passing day those thoughts were more sombre and dark. With each day the chances of Stella waking up were diminishing exponentially. By now, her chances had dwindled to about fifty per cent. But he wouldn't accept it. He knew her. She was strong and she was a fighter. She just needed time.

The sound of his phone brought him out of his reverie. He frowned looking at the clock on his desk. It was two in the morning. The last time he got such a late call, about a month ago, didn't turn out all that well so as he looked at the unknown number on the display and picked up the phone, his heart was filled with nervous anticipation.

"Taylor."

"This is doctor Reyes," Mac's heart rate went up instantly but he listened patiently. "I'm sorry for calling you at such late hour, detective, but you were named as the emergency contact for miss Bonasera."

"Yes," Mac answered warily, about to go into cardiac arrest. His mind was flashing him the most dreadful images. If everything was alright with Stella, Reyes wouldn't be calling him in the dead of the night.

"Well, I think you should come to the hospital as soon as possible," the doctor said and Mac felt his worst nightmares coming true. The shock and pain of an irreplaceable loss flowed over him like a wave. A black wave threatening to take him with it.

"Miss Bonasera's state has changed dramatically..." the doctor continued only to stop mid-sentence as he heard a loud crack on the other side followed by silence. "Hello? Detective? Hello?"

But there was no one there, the abandoned headset dangling despondently from Mac's desk.

The only sound that could be heard in the NYPD Crime Lab were the hurried steps of one Mac Taylor jumping two steps at a time to get to his Avalanche.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the cliffie (hiding behind a desk/door/her computer ****and trying to duck;)!! **

**Also, I hope you don't mind that this was longer bu****t there were several loose ends to cover and seeing as there is only one chapter to go in this story, I wanted to do this here so that the focus of the last chapter would be on something else (wink).**

**Anyways, ****I hope you liked this update, do leave a review before going if you've enjoyed it, they're all greatly appreciated!!**


	7. What About Now

**While You Were Sleeping**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

**A/N: So, ****this is it! The last chapter!! This was my first ever multi-chapter story and I would like to extend my special thanks for their regular reviews as well as support and encouragement that kept me going to **_**Andorian Ice Princess, Stella Bonasera Taylor, lily moonlight, babygurl0506, tbcdf, rocksmacked, Rosa Atrus, Divinia Serit, Storywriter, sophia923, DoctorLisaCuddy, SodeNoZangetsu, Angelina56, HSMSupernatural, Denese925, Miyukiseta, HuddyAddict87 and hammer227**_**! You ROCK, guys!**

**If I've omitted anyone, do forgive me, it wasn't on purpose!! I ****loved ALL your reviews, favs and alerts! **

**Once again, a huge thanks to all of you for joining me on this journey and I hope you'll enjoy this final chapter:-) **

* * *

**Chapter 7**** – What About Now**

_The road was blocked. Though usually stoic and reserved, Mac Taylor found he simply couldn't hold his emotions at bay this time and slammed both his hands hard on his Avalanche's horn in an angry display of helplessness. He could see the police lights flashing in the distance and turned on the police radio in hope of finding out what was going on._

"_Dammit!" he allowed himself an angry curse upon hearing the dispatcher's announcements._

_An accident. Which meant he wouldn't be driving anywhere any time soon. His truck was mired in a sea of cars and he could use his siren all he wanted but unless the Avalanche suddenly developed wings, he still wouldn't move an inch._

_He didn't think twice. Taking his suit jacket from the passenger seat he got out slamming the door shut behind him. He didn't take any heed of the horns and angry cries from the other drivers as he __manoeuvred around the cars stuck in traffic to get to the nearest sidewalk. Then he started at a run._

Please don't let me be too late. Please let her live_, he repeated in his mind over and over like a mantra. For the first time in many years he found he was actually praying. _

**XxXxXxX**

"Where's doctor Reyes?" Mac's urgent voice made the nurse at the reception desk jump up from the magazine she was engrossed in. She was opening her mouth to speak when Mac noticed the doctor in the corridor and headed straight for him leaving the woman to stare after him with her mouth hanging open.

Mac tried to read the dreadful news from Reyes' countenance but all he could see in the other man's face as he approached him was the usual serene expression he wore. It was making him even more sick with worry. How could he look so unaffected when…

"Detective Taylor," the doctor greeted him and looked at his watch with furrowed eyebrows. "That was fast. Did you run here or what?" he asked jokingly.

Mac shot him a wry look, still trying to catch his breath.

"Oh," Reyes mumbled realizing with quiet amusement that he had indeed hit the nail on the head.

"What's wrong with Stella?" Mac asked after a moment when he managed to get his breathing back to normal. He hadn't run so hard in a long time, not even when he had chased Graham Steele through half of Manhattan. Back then it wasn't Stella's life on the line.

"Nothing's wrong with miss Bonasera. If you had let me finish when we spoke on the phone," he continued in a slightly admonishing tone. "You would have known that she's woken up, detective."

Mac simply stared at him, not really believing his ears. Then as Reyes smiled at him and nodded his head, Mac felt an overwhelming feeling of shock mingled with relief and elated lightness fill him. "And...she's fine?"

"Well, she only woke up for a couple of minutes. We didn't get to do much talking to her but she was completely lucid and we ascertained there was no brain damage. She's asleep now…," seeing Mac's expression freeze again, the doctor quickly added, "Sleeping a _normal_, healthy sleep. All her vitals are fine and she should wake up again soon."

"Can I see her?"

Reyes' features creased into another smile as he looked at the reserved man before him. Or at least that was the impression the doctor saw Mac was aiming for. But Stan Reyes had seen his fair share of coma patients and their closest ones. Stella Bonasera was one lucky woman. The stream of friends who had been at her bedside every day was truly heart-warming and moving. What was most moving, however, was the unwavering faith and devotion of the man now standing before him. Reyes had grown to like and respect Mac Taylor in the last month. They had spent several sleepless nights talking at Stella's bedside and the observant and emphatic doctor had seen many shades and colours of Mac Taylor that the man himself might not even be aware of. And the doctor liked what he saw.

While the NYPD detective was certainly one of the most inhibited persons Reyes had ever met in his career, after observing him, talking to him and learning to know him a little better, he recognized the depth of devotion and care he truly felt for his 'partner' underneath that mask he showed to the outside world. Reyes didn't know what terrible past experiences had made him so or why he hadn't until now at least proposed to the woman he was so obviously in love with but looking at Mac Taylor now, the doctor got an inkling that Stella Bonasera was waking up to more than she would have expected.

"Yes," he said. It was for the joy of moments like this that Reyes had become a doctor in the first place. "She'll be glad to see you first when she wakes up this time, Mac."

Mac nodded his head, a curt 'thank you' all he could manage before his voice would fail him completely. Then he headed for Stella's room.

She was indeed asleep. He came to stand above her and put a tentative hand to her cheek. It was warm and had a healthy rosy colour to it. After making thus sure for himself that she was indeed only sleeping, he sunk lifelessly to the nearest chair like a puppet whose puppeteer had suddenly decided to cut the strings free. He felt emotionally and physically drained from the last four weeks, the wild run here and now finding out that when he had all but lost hope, Stella was finally back from her coma. All he could do was sit and stare at her, million thoughts a minute flashing through his mind.

He had no idea at what point he fell asleep. He remembered sitting there with his eyes glued to her face, watching for any sign that she was waking up. But she slept soundly and he could even hear the occasional light snore, which made him smile and assured him that she was indeed only asleep this time. So he patiently waited. And then he must have dozed off.

**XxXxXxX**

When she woke up this time, there were no doctors or nurses hovering above her in elation and asking her for her name or what year it was. This time her ears registered complete silence and her eyes focused to rest on the one solitary figure next to her. Mac was huddled in what looked like a really uncomfortable sleeping position in a chair to her right with his back to the window.

It must have been early in the morning but the sky outside was already deepening to a daytime lapis. Sunlight was streaming in through the window in soft rays, lighting up small specks of dust that floated haphazardly in the air. They landed on Mac's hair and shoulders then swirled away in elaborate, convoluted patterns when he breathed or stirred in his sleep. Long, luminous sunbeams fell on his back and carved out his silhouette with decisive strokes, making it seem as if he was surrounded in a cocoon of light, an actor in the limelight. He was certainly in the limelight of her life, she thought smiling to herself.

She didn't know how long she just lay there relishing the sight and comfort of his handsome face, sleep having ironed out all the creases and wrinkles that years of worry, stress and pain had produced and giving it a boyish, serene look. Then suddenly his eye-lids were fluttering open and she was immediately immersed in the deep intensity his blue eyes offered as he looked at her.

**XxXxXxX**

The moment when Mac opened his eyes again would be forever etched in his memory. He would remember with a half-smile the mixture of bone-tiredness, gritty eyes, slightly stubbled cheeks, aching back, and the sheer unspeakable joy as he looked into the chartreuse pools gazing straight back at him. Then Stella managed a small smile, and he became positive that this was one of the most beautiful wake-ups in his life.

"Hi," she rasped out, her throat still sore and tight from not being used for so long.

"Hi," he answered standing up and cursing the slight tremor in his voice.

He touched his hand to her cheek, still not believing his eyes and wanting to make entirely sure that he wasn't dreaming. Her face was perfectly soft and velvety and warm to the touch.

"How are you feeling?" he asked concerned.

"A little nauseous and disoriented but apart from that I'm fine," she smiled up at him, the fact that his hand was still cupping her cheek not lost on her. She put her hand over his, slightly bewildered at noticing how unusually glassy his eyes were.

"What happened, Mac?" she asked and he slowly moved his hand away from her cheek with a sigh.

"How much do you remember?"

"Not much after you coming into the bar last night," she frowned.

"Stella…it wasn't last night," he said with renewed concern.

"Not…," she looked into space realizing that what for her seemed like a few hours was apparently longer here. "How long was I out, Mac?" she asked with growing panic.

"Four weeks, two days and eight hours."

The accuracy of his count didn't escape her but there was only so much shock she could take right then. "A whole month?!"

"You were shot and fell into a coma, Stella," he looked at her disoriented expression and frowned. "I don't want to overload you with information right now. Just know that everything's fine. I'm gonna get the doctor and you just rest, ok?" he turned to leave and was just over the threshold when she called out after him.

"Mac?"

He stopped in the door and turned back towards her.

"Thanks for being here," she gave him a weak smile.

She could see the change in his eyes – a tenderness and affection she had never seen directed at her. Not with such intensity. When he looked at her like that, she knew that her excruciating struggle and pain weren't indeed for nothing. That she did have something to go back to. That she wasn't alone.

She saw that there were things he wanted to say to her, bubbling under the surface and refusing to be bottled up but she also knew by the frustrated look that flashed through his face that he was once again at a loss on how to express what lay underneath his stoic exterior.

"That's what we do, right?" he finally said with a small, defeated smile. "Take care of each other, remember?"

She was too weak to try and pry more out of him now but time would soon come that she wouldn't let him off the hook that easy.

**XxXxXxX**

The following week was one of the busiest in Stella's life even though all she did was simply lie in her bed. Doctor Reyes had made her stay for observation for seven more days even though in the weeks she had lain in coma all her physical wounds had nicely healed. Still, she was weakened and recovering from the coma itself, which meant that everything apart from lying in bed was problematic due to her stagnated muscles and initial disorientation.

She didn't have much time to dwell on that, though, or the fact that she had a lost a month of her life, because she was kept busy by the constant stream of CSIs, one of whom seemed to be at her bedside at all times, and other people whom she hadn't seen since St. Basil's, the police academy or college. She was truly amazed at the number of people who visited her. The number of people to whom she meant something. Each hour of every day of her last week at the Mercy Hospital proved to her time and time again that she wasn't alone and meaningless after all.

But that was only one of the many realizations that became apparent to her. What struck her most of all was that not only did she have more friends than she ever thought possible but she also had a true family. Don, Sheldon, Sid, Adam, Danny and Lindsay had all showered her with so much love and care that she was utterly inundated with the amount of affection and attention she was getting.

The greatest affection came from the most unexpected source, though. The change she had noticed in Mac upon waking up wasn't just a figment of her comatose imagination. It was still there in his gentle smiles, intense looks and reassuring presence. When she woke up, he was the first person she saw, when she went to sleep, he was the last. She instinctively knew that these weren't the only times he had slept at her bed-side in the last month. Still, there existed this silent barrier between them that neither ventured to cross. When it came to mastering bottling things up and keeping their mouths shut, they had both crawled out from under the same rock. Stella knew that if she wanted to learn the reasons for this change in him, she would have to force it out of him.

An opportunity presented itself two days after her waking up when she was allowed her first tentative walk. Mac was there to assist her and as they slowly made their way through the corridor, he hovered protectively at her side.

"Will you catch me if I fall?" she asked innocently, a playful grin playing on her lips.

He gave her a half-smile, "Why do you think I'm here?"

"I think you've simply gotten addicted to the hospital. Something like with your office."

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"A little bird tells me that the chair at my bed has the imprint of your certain body part from sleeping so much in it."

"Is this 'bird' named Danny or Flack?"

"I am not at liberty to reveal my sources," she flashed him a cheeky grin.

"Tell your sources," he countered. "That they'd better focus on their job instead of gossip or they will get an imprint of my foot on their 'certain body part'."

She chuckled. "So it's true."

He flashed her a sideways look and she knew the answer.

"You spoke to me, too, didn't you?"

His head snapped up in surprise and she smiled knowingly.

"I heard you," she said softly.

He rose his eyebrows skeptically.

"Did you? Doctor Reyes mentioned that it was possible but I thought he was making it up to make me feel better."

"He probably was," she flashed him a small smile but then a look of concentration spread over her face. "I was alone on a beach…," she knitted her eyebrows in an effort to remember the muddled images in her head. "And then I was in the water drowning…And then I heard you…," she looked up to glance straight into his eyes as she remembered. "You told me to fight…and then there was darkness and lots of light…," she sighed, defeated and not able to recall anything more clearly. "Does this make any sense?"

"Not much," he couldn't conceal his smile. "Apart from the fact that you apparently dream about me."

She swatted him playfully on the shoulder. "You wish, Taylor," she countered with a half-smile but then her face took on a serious expression. "Thanks for not giving up on me."

He put his hands in his pockets with that flustered boyish expression of discomfiture he always wore when a conversation drifted onto the unsteady waters of feelings and emotions. He looked down, avoiding her gaze for a while.

"You would never give up on me," he looked her in the eye. "You never did. Not even when I was a wreck of a man and threw your friendship in your face," he knew by the look on her face that she knew what he was referring to and remembered the dark days after 9/11 as poignantly as he did. Probably even more. She never showed it but he knew that in his pain and anguish he had hurt her as much as he had hurt himself then. And still she stayed by his side. "It was the least I could do."

He knew how inadequate that sounded and flinched inwardly but his innermost reflexes once again paralysed his ability to share more with her. He shook his head.

"Besides, I had to. Where would I find another such fine CSI?" he tried in a lighter tone.

"Ah, I knew you had an ulterior motive," she chuckled. "Sure you don't want that job in politics with Sinclair?"

"And lose out on all the shootings, comas and murders?" he asked with mock incredulity. "No way."

"Yeah, who would want to lose out on all that?"

They walked in companionable silence for a while until Mac chanced a glance at Stella only to see that she had become very pale, small beads of sweat starting to form on her forehead.

"I guess that's enough for today, Stell," he said with worry. "You're not looking that well."

"Boy, you really know how to compliment a girl, Mac," she huffed managing a half-smile for his sake, though in truth she had been struggling to stay upright for several moments already and the earth was indeed starting to whirl underneath her feet.

"I'm serious, Stella," he said not cracking a smile. "I'm taking you back to your room."

"Mac, I'm fine," she insisted. "I can…"

"Stella," he cut her off. "The only question still open to discussion here is whether you're able to walk back yourself or do you want me to carry you?"

She furrowed her eyebrows, her independent streak kicking in. "Mac, I'm not some damsel in distress who needs you to…"

The strain of arguing her point with him did prove too much for her still weakened organism, though, and she swayed once again not able to finish her sentence. This time Mac didn't ask for permission but simply gathered her up in his arms and headed for her room with his precious load ensconced safely although seethingly in his arms.

"Mac, goddammit…" she hissed when she got her breath back.

"What did you expect? I'm from Windy City, home of the chivalrous, remember?" he smirked down at her.

She shook her head remembering herself teasing him about his unusually gentlemanly conduct in that fateful cab they had shared so many years ago. That he would still remember her exact words tugged at something deep within. She stopped cursing him and grudgingly admitted to herself that she wouldn't make it to her room on her own anyway. And in all honesty, even the tough-as-nails Stella Bonasera did actually enjoy being pampered and taken care of like this for a change. Not to mention the not unpleasant sensations being huddled against Mac's chest generated.

He set her down on her bed and helped her with the bed cover, a worried look not leaving his face the whole time. He scrutinized her gaunt countenance, taking in the greyish pallor of her cheeks with a frown. Also, she had always been slender but as he carried her, she felt almost as light as a feather. Her recuperation and coma had taken its toll on her whole body and he knew it would be some time yet before she returned to the shape from before the shooting.

"I'll get doctor Reyes," he said with his one foot already over the threshold.

"No need, Mac," she said, her voice strong and steady again. "I'm better already. I just may have overestimated my strength a little."

"May have?" he raised his eyebrows.

"And your point is?" she asked, a thin-lipped expression on her face.

"Stella, you need to take it easy," he said coming back to stand beside her bed, his worry slightly assuaged as he saw the colour return to her face. "You've been through two operations and a coma in the last month. You're the toughest person I know but you're not made of steel."

A small smile started to tug at her lips. When did Mac Taylor start giving lectures about living healthy and taking it easy to Stella Bonasera?

"I think I prefer the old Mac Taylor."

"What old Mac Taylor would that be?" he crossed his arms over his chest looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"The one who…" she stopped. Who what? Cared less for her? Was only a friend to her? Didn't have that unnameable tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her that scared her?

She cleared her throat and said wryly, "The one who wasn't such a pain in the…neck."

"Well, you're going to have to get used to this," he said unfazed.

"Why, Mac?" she asked looking at him expectantly and wanting him to name the unnameable.

He held her gaze and was opening his mouth to speak when they heard a noise in the corridor and then Danny barged in loudly with Lucy in his arms, Lindsay in tow. Mac shot Stella an inscrutable look and moved back to make place for the Messers at her bed.

**XxXxXxX**

When several days later Stella was finally scheduled to be signed out from the hospital, she didn't want an audience, even though Danny, Hawkes and Don had offered more than once to help. She was truly touched by their interest and care but her reluctance to lean on others was so deeply instilled in her that she doubted any amount of affection would ever change that completely.

Mac was another thing. She didn't even have to say anything. On the day of her dismissal from the hospital, she opened her eyes to see him in what she had come to think of as his chair, flipping through some forensics magazine. He was clad casually in his leather jacket and jeans, the light scent of his cologne pleasantly bringing her sleepy senses to life.

"Hi," he said looking up from his read.

"Hi," she smiled in return and the strangest thought crossed her mind. She thought that she could really get used to this – waking up to his serene smile and the warmth his eyes offered her.

"I thought you were never going to wake up," he teased as he stood up to stand beside her bed, his eyebrows arched and a smile hovering on his lips. "Haven't you done enough sleeping for a decade already?"

"Are you making fun of my coma?" she raised her eyebrows in a mock impression of indignation and threw her legs over the edge of the bed so that she was almost on eye level with him. "Has Mac Taylor become flippant? I leave you alone for one month..."

He lightly chuckled and soon she joined him. The realization how much he loved the mellifluous sound of her laughter hit him once again. He gently squeezed her arm and looked her in the eye.

"I'm really glad you're well, Stella," he mentally kicked himself realizing how inadequate and lame his words sounded.

They weren't even a fraction of how he felt and what he wanted to say but his almost criminal inability to express his feelings got the better of him once again. Still, as he looked at her radiant expression, he was assured she knew there was much more to what he had said than the few awkward words in it. Though how much more, he doubted she could imagine.

"Thank you, Mac," she put a hand to his cheek. He gingerly covered her hand with his and so they stayed for a while, each of them relishing the closeness of a person they cared deeply about.

Mac was the first to break eye contact. He cleared his throat and stepped back.

"I've spoken to the doctors and you're free to go. They only need your signature on the discharge form and we can leave," he smiled when she looked at him like he had just announced that Christmas was coming early this year. "I'll let you dress. Here are some clothes," he put a small duffel bag at the foot of her bed. "Lindsay was supposed to go to your apartment and do this but she had an emergency with Lucy so I had to do it myself. Sorry."

As Mac backed out of the room accompanied by Stella's amused stare, she was itching to find out why he seemed so nervous. As she started rummaging through the bag, she learned why. Apart from a pair of jeans, a green blouse and her favourite leather jacket, there was a satin bra and panties inside. Well, it was good he hadn't forgotten those particular items but as she imagined Mac going through her lingerie, she felt a mischievous smile spread over her face. Oh, she would have a field day with this. She shook her head and started to dress.

**XxXxXxX**

Half an hour later, Stella a free woman again, they were sitting in Mac's Avalanche and making their way through the heavy late morning traffic towards her apartment. Mac was filling her in on the cases they were currently investigating but she couldn't help herself any longer. She smiled peevishly. Mac noticed her expression and arched his eyebrows questioningly.

"What is it?" he asked.

She looked at him with a cheeky grin.

"Satin, huh?" she teased and was rewarded by him quickly pulling his eyes away from her and back to the traffic ahead with a look of embarrassment on his face.

"I simply grabbed whatever was on top in the drawer," he spoke defensively.

An embarrassed Mac Taylor wasn't a sight you saw every day. In the lab he was a composed leader on top of every situation, who could take on the most notorious criminals in New York without a blink and easily stand his ground. But when it came to personal, he was helpless. This was a rare opportunity and she couldn't stop herself from milking it a bit more. Besides, she loved that boyish blush of his.

"Really? I usually keep satin on the bottom," she deadpanned.

She saw Mac turn a deeper shade of red before he spoke. "Then you must have forgotten you put it on top this time."

"No way," she said managing to keep a straight face. "But really, I don't mind you going through my lingerie," she added in a conversational tone.

"I didn't go through…" he automatically started to claim his innocence once again when the whole of her utterance got to him. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a smile tugging at his lips.

"Are you flirting with me?" he asked.

"Maybe," she replied vaguely with mischievously pursed lips. "You better watch the road, Taylor, I've just left the hospital and am not planning on going back any time soon."

He smiled and they rode in silence for a while, each of them staring ahead.

"I like satin," Stella said casually, trying hard not to smile.

Mac looked at her with arched eyebrows.

"I'll try to remember that next time I bring you lingerie," he finally said and almost choked on his words. "That went out wrong. I didn't mean...," he blurted out.

"Mac Taylor, are _you_ flirting with _me_?" she teased him further.

"I…uh…" he stammered and Stella decided to let him off the hook before he suffered a heart attack.

"Mac, relax," she put a reassuring hand on his arm. "I'm kidding."

"You don't like satin, then?" he was quick to recover.

"You so _are_ flirting with me!" she laughed.

"Maybe. But I'll better go back to watching the road now," he countered using her own words against her as they pulled up at her apartment block.

When they arrived on her floor and stepped out of the elevator, Stella stopped in her tracks seeing the uniformed officer standing guard at her door. Upon seeing them, he nodded. Mac didn't seem in the least bit surprised as he returned the greeting.

"Stella, this is sergeant Bob Giamatti," he said turning back to her. "He's going to…stick around for a while," he finished trying to find the least contentious word and avoiding Stella's gaze.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, she nodded in Giamatti's direction. "Hi, Bob."

"Detective Bonasera," the man replied formally and continued to stare ahead as Stella entered her apartment after Mac, her gaze lingering on the sergeant a while longer with first signs of an angry frown building on her face.

"Wanna tell me what this is all about?" she asked testily, resting her hands on her hips as soon as the door closed behind her. She didn't like to be kept in the dark and apparently there was something, quite frankly _a lot_, that Mac wasn't telling her.

He looked at her with a frown. "You've been assigned police protection."

"Clearly," she scoffed. "I don't have to ask by whom, right? But _why_, Mac?"

He sighed. "The man responsible for the shooting, Graham Steele, tried to kill you a second time at the hospital. He confessed it was all commissioned."

"And you believe him?"

"Yes. I'm taking this seriously, Stella. There is evidence to suggest that he wasn't just making empty threats."

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?" she demanded with a thin-lipped expression, her eyes flashing angry sparks.

"At the hospital? When you were barely able to stand?" he felt his temper rise in response to her sharp tone.

"Mac, I'm your second," she enunciated. "Don't you think I should be the first to know about cases with such deep-running implications and threats on my life? Also, I don't need Bob to _take care_ of me. You should have at least asked me."

"I knew you'd say no."

"Of course I'd said no, Mac!" she said, a hard edge to her voice. "I think I've worked hard enough and proven my worth enough to earn at least a modicum of your respect! Enough to at least allow me to decide about such things for myself!"

"Stella," he rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He had expected she wouldn't be exactly thrilled about all this but he didn't foresee such a reaction. In hindsight, he should have. This was Stella. His proudly independent, tough and headstrong partner. "This is not about my respect for you...which is highest for anyone I've ever known or worked with," he added seeing her irately purse her lips. "But about my worry for you. There's been an attempt on your life and we've had intel that it might not be the last one. You're straight out of hospital and not in top form. What was I supposed to do? Let another psycho get to you because you wouldn't listen to me?"

"Mac, I can fend for myself! I'm not some wilting flower! I'm an NYPD detective with thirteen years of service, for Christ's sake. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"It does. But right now you're not a detective. You're my friend. And I'm worried about you."

Her eyes sparked again and she crossed her hands over her chest.

"Does this worry have to involve an officer at my door?"

"At this point? Yes. I still have a clear memory of your blood on my hands and I don't think I'l ever forget the look of your comatose face in that hospital bed! This didn't only happen to you, ok?" he added in a more subdued tone. "So humour me. At least until you're not completely healthy and back in shape."

Her expression softened and she started to feel guilty for putting up such a fight when all he was trying to do was protect her. She simply wasn't used to being protected. Usually _she _was the protector. When she responded, the edge to her voice was gone, "A week. Then Bob's out of here even if I have to kick him out myself."

"Fine," he conceded with a frown.

They stood like that for a while, both of them fuming silently but as Mac looked at her haggard, solitary frame with an empty apartment behind her, he felt his heart constrict.

"Stella, I'm sorry. It's just that…I've already almost lost you twice in the last month and I don't think I would survive a third time."

"I'm sorry, too, Mac," she smiled tentatively. "I've overreacted. And I understand why you didn't tell me. You know me too well," she shook her head. Then a cheeky grin appeared on her face. "And I guess Bob could come in handy when I run out of milk."

Mac chuckled slightly. "He'll be thrilled, I can bet," he observed wryly. He shot another look around the empty appartment and her lone figure standing in the middle. He would have felt much better if he could keep an eye on her himself. "Stell, you know I still have that spare room. If you want…"

As soon as he saw her expression, he knew the answer.

"Thanks, Mac, but…"

"I know, you snore," he cut in wryly.

She smiled. "Yes, that too. But I think I just need some alone time to sort everything out, ok?" she looked at him with a silent plea that he understand her decision and where it came from.

"Do what you have to, Stella," he said pushing a hand through his hair. "Just know I'm here for you if you need anything."

"I know, Mac," she rubbed his arm and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "See you soon?"

"Just not at the lab," he cautioned. "Not until I see a full medical report stating that you are completely fit and healthy to take on the strain of work in the lab again."

"Can it be from Sid?"

"Nice try but unless you're a corpse, then no."

"If you give me more surprises like Bob, I just might have a heart attack. Would that count?"

"It would but I doubt you'd get much work done then," he said with a half-smile.

"Oh, I could surprise you."

"I don't doubt that," he shook his head. "You can take two shifts when you're back in shape but no sooner, Stell," he said seriously. "I'll swing by tomorrow and you'd better not be doing any push-ups or punching that bag of yours," he added only half-jokingly.

"Now that's an idea! Gee, wonder whose face I'll imagine when I pack the first punch?" she said with a cheeky grin.

"Stella, I mean it," he said, his tone brooking no objection. "If I have to, I'll have surveillance cameras installed here."

"Why do I get the feeling you'd like that?"

"Stel-la," he huffed. "You're trying to tease me to death today, aren't you?"

"Hey, you've already got yourself a whole Stella-free month, now I've got to get your uptight self to loosen up a little!" she said jokingly but her smile died on her lips as she saw his expression harden upon her mentioning the last month.

"Each day was torture," he spoke in a subdued tone, an intense look in his eyes.

At a loss for words, she stood before him in silence. She couldn't tease him about that. And even if she could, she found she didn't want to. This was one of the rare moments that he allowed her a peek into the deepest confines of his soul. The depth of feeling and emotion he kept hidden there, underneath that mask, always took her by surprise. And now she was simply rendered speechless by the tenderness and anguish in his voice. She could see he had interpreted her silence in a totally different way, though. In one instant she saw shutters go back up and he cleared his throat.

"So, um…I'll see you soon," he threw in her direction and headed for the door. "Night, Stella."

He was reaching for the doorknob when her voice stopped him. Her tone held a longing mixed with anxiety and urgency.

"Mac."

Mac had never heard her sound like that. He turned around and watched entranced as she covered the distance between them and stood inches from him. He looked searchingly into her shining green eyes, the whole rest of the world that wasn't her ceasing to exist for him. A wave of emotion overwhelmed him, bringing back feelings and sensations he didn't think himself capable of feeling since Claire. To his surprise, that didn't scare him, though. It enraptured him. He gently cupped her face in his hands and ever so slowly leaned in, letting his lips tenderly graze hers.

He would be lying if he said he hadn't imagined this moment before. He had. Many times, especially in the last weeks but the reality surpassed his wildest expectations. As his lips touched hers, a vortex of emotions flowed through him threatening to sweep him off his feet in a giant tsunami. The floor underneath his feet began to spin. When he gently tried to deepen the kiss, she welcomed it with passion and now it was the whole world that was spinning out of control. His hands wandered to her hair, fingers getting entangled in her curls, which were incredibly soft and fine and delicate. All thoughts dissolved and he felt himself drown in the gentle touch of her hands on his neck, the velvety softness of her mouth against his, the delightful feel of her body pressed into his.

When he pulled away from her, he touched his forehead to hers.

"I missed you so much, Stell," he spoke softly. "I locked myself in my office, slept in that hospital chair, didn't eat, didn't sleep, went over each memory we've made together, each moment I was lucky enough to have you in my life," the emotions he had been keeping in check so carefully were suddenly spilling out of him. All the pain, anguish and fear he had to endure in the last weeks had finally found a crevice in his armour and started to flow out freely. "I was so afraid I'd lost you, I…"

"Shh," she put a finger to his mouth, shivering in his arms. From shock, the flurry of emotions engulfing her and the sheer amount and intensity of the insight into his soul he had just offered her, an insight that she knew he had never offered to anyone except for his late wife.

She closed her eyes and felt two tears scald their way down her cheeks. Normally she would have been ashamed to cry in front of someone else, but this was Mac and she was too overwhelmed and tired to care. She had no idea what it must have been like for him to see her so close to death. They had both survived a nightmare. Yet they were still here. Stronger. Closer. Together.

Her harsh childhood and tough youth had taught her never to expect anything from anyone and shun any deeper connection. Her adult life hadn't proven any of it wrong. To the contrary – Mindy, Frankie, Drew Bedford, professor P. had all only confirmed her conviction. If you were alone, then you could never be disappointed. If you depended on somebody, they sooner or later let you down and it hurt really bad. Leaning on others simply meant you were weak and incapable of fending for yourself, something Stella was cruelly taught to despise.

But as she looked at Mac and the ten years she had known him, she realized that she could rely on him just as much as on herself. He wasn't always there for her emotionally but he always gave her as much support as he was capable of. Even if it was 'only' working her apartment after she had shot Frankie and proving that she had indeed fired in self-defence, which had spared her a suspension, an agonizing trial and God knows what else.

She didn't hold his emotional detachment against him as she knew where it came from and understood his unwillingness to let himself out on an emotional limb. Even if not emotionally, he was still there, a reassuring constant in her life. In her darkest moments he always gave her support and instilled back in her faith in human nature. She was perfectly aware of how much it cost him – he himself carried a huge load of past disappointments, pain and heartache. But in the past year or so, she had sensed a delicate but definite change in him. He was more open and was re-learning how to deal with emotions and feelings in other ways than simply sealing himself off. And ever since she woke up from her coma, the change in him was almost palpable. And now he had sealed it with a kiss, the most wonderful kiss she had ever experienced in her life.

Maybe she should finally allow him to see her vulnerability, too? Allow him to be there for her when she was weak? She knew that if she would indeed one day be able to show her soft side to anyone, to any _man_, it could only be Mac. He had already chosen her, she could see it in his eyes. But was she ready to reciprocate his feelings like he deserved? She didn't want to hurt him.

Mac rubbed her tears away with his thumbs. He scrutinized her face, every inch of which was so well known to him that he could trace each single line and crease in his sleep. Her eyes held a deep intensity that he couldn't quite put a finger on. He had finally taken that step and opened his heart to her but now renewed doubts were finding their way into his soul as he looked at her tear-stained face. Did he hurt her? Disappoint her? Had he just ended their friendship with one stupid, impulsive moment? Or begun something new? As he stared down at her, he didn't know what to think. Every silent second seemed to stretch out into a small eternity as he awaited his sentence.

Then she lowered her head and moved a step away.

"Mac…"

He stepped back as if she had slapped him. "But you're not ready yet," it wasn't a question. "Stell, just…," his voice let him down for a moment. "Just know I'll be here when you are," he managed before turning and reaching for the doorknob.

"Mac," her voice made him stop once again.

As he turned around and looked at the woman he was finally able to admit that he loved with all his heart, his breath caught in his throat and he knew his feelings were not one-sided. Her lashes were wet with new tears but this time they were accompanied by a big smile and happy sparks dancing in her eyes. Then she opened her mouth and spoke three words that would change his and her future forever.

"What about now?"

Their future.

**THE END**

* * *

**A/N: So, ****I hope this ending made up for all the angstier/darker parts!! Do let me know how you liked it in a final review (the green button's winking at you;-).**

**Also, ****a question – would you like this story continued? A sequel would entail how Mac and Stella deal with their new-found feelings and a budding relationship, who the mysterious Evilene (to use Denese925's term;-) is, what she's up to and who the secret 'in' in the lab is. In a nutshell, a new disturbing case (this time Stella will stay conscious ALL the time, I promise;-), lots of danger, suspense and cliffies in a savoury SMacked sauce;-) Tell me what you think about this and if you'd be interested!!**


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